


Letters From Across the World

by 20DruidicKats, Meerkatgirl13 (20DruidicKats)



Series: The Delroy Chronicals [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/20DruidicKats/pseuds/20DruidicKats, https://archiveofourown.org/users/20DruidicKats/pseuds/Meerkatgirl13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Summit at Darnassus, the three Delroy siblings chose different paths to walk. Each of them will have a part to play in the aftermath of the Cataclysm. Each of them equally important. These letters record their tales, hardships and triumphs, as they make their ways in the sundered aftermath of Deathwing's rampage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ammon: Dealings in Darkshore

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the third installment of the Delroy Chronicles! This one will probably be the longest out of the stories I have planned, as this is supposed to span the entire Cataclysm expansion. I'm also playing with a new story format, so please tell me what works and what doesn't work for you! I would love to know! If everything goes as planned, every chapter will be from a different sibling's point of view.
> 
> It would mean so much to me if I got some feedback from you guys about anything! From formatting to dialogue to a scene that may (or may not) work! Or just a word of praise! That works just as well!

_**My** _ _**Dearest Sister,** _

_**Darkshore certainly lives up to its name. It's dark, cold, and utterly destroyed. I was told, when I arrived, that it was much worse a month ago. They had it pretty much handled up north, so I was sent to the southern half, with many other of our countrymen, to assist in a refugee camp outside of the ruined town of Auberdine. I arrived there first, as many of them got drafted for other tasks along the way.** _

* * *

The _whoosh_ of rushing water filled Ammon's ears. The rogue peered down his nose at the swirling dark water with distaste. He'd heard reports that the land was broken, and even witnessed it back at Lor'danel, but he wasn't prepared for it being _literally_ shattered this far inland. His disgruntled gaze darted about the cliffs across from him, seeking a way up, and spotted a ramp-like formation in the rock about ten yards downstream from him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered irritably, hoisting his waterproofed bag higher on his shoulders and braced himself. "Why can't anything be simple for once?"

With that last complaint, he threw himself into the water. The shock of the cold stole the breath from his lungs and he gasped for air. Teeth chattering, he forced himself to swim towards the cliff. His gloved fingers scrambled for purchase on the slimy rocks and, for an instant, he was afraid he would be swept away with the current. Relief flooded his heart when his fingers found the edge of the 'ramp' and he scrambled out of the freezing water. Ammon took a moment to regain his breath, pushed his soaked bangs out of his face with a shaking hand, and clambered to his feet.

It was only when he got to the top that he realized that he was on an island and that the water on the other side looked just as cold.

"Fuckin' hell!"

* * *

One cold plunge later, Ammon found himself jogging along the path towards a small grouping of bright purple tents. These had to be the refugees. One of the elves—a female with short magenta hair—hailed him when he got close enough.

"Are you here to help us?" she asked on a warm voice, the voice of a priestess.

Ammon nodded. "Aye."

Her weary features softened in relief. A small smile graced her lavender lips. "That is wonderful news! Come, sit with us while we discuss what needs to be done."

Ammon nodded again absently and followed the she-elf, settling into a place as close to the meager campfire as he could. There was shuffling behind him as some of the elves joined him, including the priestess who pressed some bread and water into his shaking hands.

Despite that he wasn't super famished, he still took a bite out of the slightly stale bread and a swig of the cold water. He observed the small camp, taking note of the tired droop in their posture. A grunt of pain brought his gaze to an injured Sentinel sitting gingerly across the campfire from him. The priestess from earlier knelt beside her and moved some of the armour covering her dusky purple skin to expose a bloodstained bandage covering her upper thigh.

"It's looking better, Selarin," the priestess sighed, gathering up a glowing ball of golden magic and pressing it to the wound. It started to close and, with another spell, healed all the way. The priestess tossed the bloodied bandage into the fire and pulled out a roll of clean linen out of her robe.

"Thank you Alinya," Selarin murmured, lifting her leg a little to ease the process some. Her face twitched uncomfortably as the priestess pulled a little too sharply on the bandage. Her glowing silver eyes flickered to the human rogue watching them and a hard edge tightened her features.

"You're here to help, yes?" She asked briskly. Ammon nodded, setting his face into a politely neutral expression.

"Good." Selarin jabbed a finger to the dense forest on the other side of the path. "What's left of Auberdine is just beyond there. The Twilight's Hammer summoned elementals to keep us from reclaiming our dead. Kill the cyclones, take their bracers, and cleanse them in the moonwell. I don't expect you to retake the city alone, but we need you to soften them up while we heal."

The rogue blinked in surprise but nodded his agreement.

"That will not do much if the summoners still live," a deep, soothing voice added. Ammon glanced up at a silver-haired elf as he rounded the fire. His aura combined with his armour told Ammon that this one is a druid. The druid's golden gaze flickered between the rogue and the downed Sentinel before it settled on him.

"There are three Twilight's Hammer cultists that are responsible for the elementals. Upon further investigation I discovered their identity. They are Cloudtamer Wildmane, Windmaster Tzu-Tzu, and Skylord Braax. If Sentinel Selarin and her forces have any hope of reclaiming their home, they need to be slain."

Ammon nodded yet again and stood. He stowed the bread and water in his pack and glanced around the camp.

"If that's all of your requests, then I will get started. I will be back shortly."

He paused, waiting for someone else to speak their request, before jogging down the branching path towards the city. He passed a wandering refugee on the trail and pulled up short when the city revealed itself to him. His heart ached at the once inhabited town, destroyed by an obviously violent upheaval.

* * *

_**Auberdine... was truly in ruins when I got there. It reminded me eerily of Duskhaven when it fell into the ocean, just without so much water. There were cliffs jutting where they shouldn't be, collapsing so many buildings, and trenches that were filled with water. The few buildings that still stood housed the Twilight's Hammer cultists, the ones responsible for summoning the air elementals. Let me tell you, Joanie, they were tough bastards to take down. I don't know how someone can kill beings made out of air, but I did it somehow.** _

* * *

Ammon heaved an armful of the elementals' bracers to a familiar ring of stones, grunting under the effort. He dumped them right outside of the large stones and shook his burning arms out.

"Gold," he grumbled under his breath, snatching up a pair and tossing them into the glowing water. He watched as they sparked up a bright bolt of arcane magic and bent down to retrieve another pair. "Why in the ever-loving hell do _air_ things carry bracers made of enchanted _gold_?! These buggers are heavy!"

He ignored the sting of his injuries—all minor enough be cured by one of his healing potions—and concentrated on throwing the heavy bracers into the moonwell. When his pile finally dwindled he took a moment to glance around. A good portion of the town was cleared of elementals, courtesy of him and some of the others that were sent with him. He noticed that a good portion of them were worgen, intermixed with a few night elves. He'd already taken care of the hard part—killing the cultists—and he turned back towards the camp to report back. As far as he was concerned, he was done. The others could clear out the remaining elementals.

* * *

_**It's odd to see our people do the Alliance's bidding with the utmost humbleness. Even odder to watch the elves accept us with open arms, as if they weren't responsible for the Curse in the first place. Speaking of curses and such, I was sent to Archdruid Malfurion after I reported back to the refugees. He'd apparently heard of my presence in the area and needed my skills. He'd taken it upon himself to keep the land together as best he could... with a giant cyclone... You'd probably understand more, but it made no sense to me. Anyway, he needed the help of three 'humanoid' leaders to keep the twister up. It was... interesting... to say in the least...** _

* * *

"Sooo... You want me to take this totem and..."

The short bear-man gave him an impatient glare. "Sooth the fire elementals' remains. Bring it back here when it is full, human."

Ammon lifted a brow and examined the softly glowing totem. To him it looked like nothing more than an intricately carved plank of wood decorated with twine, beads and feathers. He could sense the magic in it—it felt rather cool—but he was still confused on how exactly he was supposed to 'sooth the remains'.

A bear-like roar tore Ammon out of his musings and he immediately tucked the totem in his belt. With a weary huff, the rogue ran out to engage the fiery blobs of conscious fire.

It didn't take him long to figure out that he merely needed to touch the totem to the elementals' bracers—again golden; What was with elementals and gold?—and the magic would do the rest. The rogue tried his hardest to kill them quickly. The ground was covered in cooled lava that still radiated heat like no tomorrow; many of the trees caught in the area were going up in flames like tinderboxes. Ammon wished that he had armour that let his skin breathe better; he was cooking in the Gilnean leather. Not to mention that the leather of his gloves and the soles of his boots were starting to burn.

Dancing over the black patches of lava, Ammon engaged the last elemental he felt he needed. He kept his feet moving to avoid burning holes through his boots, slashing and parrying the elemental's attacks with his twin daggers. He still had no idea how he was doing damage to it but soon enough it howled in agony and dissipated, leaving only its flaming golden bracers. With a tired sigh, the rogue tugged the totem, now thrumming with magic, out of his belt and prodded the metal with it. Almost immediately the flames were doused and the totem hummed louder with the intake of fresh magic.

Hissing at the uncomfortable heat in his soles, the rogue swiftly picked over the dead earth. He hummed in relief when he felt the cool grass beneath his feet and jogged over to the furbolg camp. Ammon was tired of dealing with the elementals and he was eager to move on.

* * *

_**Malfurion had apparently recruited some other adventurers to his cause while I was dealing with the furbolgs. The other two 'leaders' were already with him when I showed up with Elder Brownpaw. One was one of those 'moonkin' that you were telling me about back in Darnassus and the other an Ancient. They were waiting for a green dragon to be freed, I was told, so I stuck around to see it.** _

_**Bloody hell, Joanie, those things are HUGE! The thing just zipped out from out of nowhere and landed right next to me! I was told that her name was Thessera. I didn't get a chance to ride her, though. The bugger that freed her got the chance to deal with the other dragons (there were MORE of them circling above me and I didn't even notice!). Malfurion sent me ahead to the Grove of the Ancients, promising that he'd send the other Gilneans to assist me when they came through. It starts getting stranger from there...** _

* * *

Ammon huffed as he clambered out of the water for the millionth time that day. He glared at the rush of water just below him as he squeezed water out of his drenched hair.

"'Help the Alliance', they said! 'It'll be fine', they said! Bloody prats, the lot of 'em!"

The rogue kicked a small stone into the rapids and turned away, clambering up the rocky cliff with sore fingers. He hissed as a slight breeze stung the exposed parts of his skin with a biting cold, wishing more than anything to curl up next to a warm fire within the next half hour or so.

After only a few minutes of walking Ammon stopped short, gawking at the sight before him. Where the rest of Darkshore was dim and muted hues of green and brown, this area bloomed with health and bright hues of green and purple. He followed one of the purple leafed trees and discovered that they weren't trees at all, but rather Ancients frozen in place.

"Must be the place," he murmured, glancing up at the small patches of sky above him. "Just in time. Sun's setting."

With a sigh, Ammon trudged on, his pace faster now that he's so close to that warmth. He barely spared a glance to the hippogryphs penned outside the ring of Ancients and rushed inside. His heart sunk when there was no campfire set, only a pedestal holding a small brazier. With an irritable huff, Ammon slunk to it and started to pull off his gloves to warm his hands.

"Are you the rogue Archdruid Malfurion sent ahead?" one of the elves asked and he nodded absently.

"Yeah," he muttered, flexing his fingers to try and regain feeling in them. "Said something about talking to someone named Balren of the Claw."

"That is me," the elf replied and the rogue glanced up, noting his long, deep blue locks. The elf looked him up and down, a furrow angling his long brows. "Are you well?"

Ammon sighed. "Cold and tired. Nothing sleep and a warm fire can't cure."

Balren gestured to the immediate area. "Anywhere is a good place to camp."

The rogue nodded, grabbed his gloves from where they sat near the brazier, shuffled towards a relatively clear spot near one of the frozen Ancients and settled down on the slightly springy ground. He worked on peeling his wet armour from his body and, after several minutes of struggle, set them off to the side while he worked on getting a proper fire started. He was struggling with his technique when a guttural voice burred at him from out of the darkness.

"Need help with that?" The voice revealed itself to be a male worgen dressed in muted blue robes and Ammon eyed him suspiciously. The newcomer snorted, shrugged off his own pack, and shook back his sleeves. "I've got fresh meat I'm willing to share if you're willing to share your fire. How 'bout it?"

Faced with the prospect of getting a fresh meal, Ammon nodded his acquiescence and sat back on his heels. "Fine by me."

The worgen gave him a slightly startled look but waved his clawed hands in the air. A bright ball of fire materialized in his hands a moment later and he shot it into Ammon's rough pile of wood. The rogue flinched back when the pile splintered everywhere, many of the pieces caught in flames. The elves around them hissed in disdain and glared at the pair as the mage dashed around to extinguish the small blazes. Ammon pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, noting that what was left in the makeshift fire pit was merrily crackling away.

"Sorry, sorry!" the mage whined, sounding much like a kicked puppy, "Didn't mean to make _that_ happen!"

"What did you think would happen?" Ammon said in a tight voice, though a bubble of entertainment threatened to rise out of his chest. "Truly you've done this before with similar results."

The worgen sighed and dropped heavily across from him, a fierce frown on his lupine lips. "Aye... But I thought I had the power just right this time!"

The rogue searched his companion's features for a long moment before rolling to his feet. "No matter; no harm done. The fire needs more wood before it's hot enough to cook on."  
"Right!" The mage hopped to his feet again, "I'll gather some more firewood!"

Before Ammon could utter another word the worgen bounced off into the dark woods. The rogue exchanged a wide-eyed stare with one of the elves nearby and set to gathering the smoldering remains of the wood pile. It would make some use as fuel until the strange worgen came back.

* * *

_**The mage's name was Orrin and he was as truly strange as he sounds. He was back quite quickly, a bundle of sticks under one arm and a nasty claw wound on the other. He'd apparently run into the infected bears roaming the area and barely made it out whole. The meat he provided was well worth his incessant questions though, so I was happy.** _

_**Some others made their way there near dawn, much to the relief of the elves there. One pair was sent off to search for the source of corruption in the area. A priestess was sent off with Orrin to go assist the furbolgs, which left me to the assignment Balren gave himself.** _

* * *

"Rogue," Balren called, beckoning Ammon over. As the red-head strode over, he noted that the elf had something clutched in his large orchid-hued hand.

The druid gestured to the southwest, the direction Orrin and his quest partner had taken just moments before. "We've noted an increase in Twilight's Hammer cult activity recently, which means something is terribly amiss. They worship beings that are known as the Old Gods, or Old Ones by some, and the Master's Glaive is a place where a corpse of something related to them lies." Balren pressed an amethyst coloured figurine into Ammon's hand. "Take this and spy on their activities; this figurine is enchanted to keep you hidden from most of them."

Ammon looked at the small yet heavy gem feline in his hand. "Enchanted how, exactly..? Shouldn't my own abilities be enough for this..?"

"Perhaps, but we cannot take any chances. Go, before we lose this chance!"

With a grumble, Ammon tucked it into his hidden belt pocket and spun on his heel. Without another glance to the assembled elves, he marched out and down the road.

It didn't take him long to traverse the worn cobbled path, especially when it abruptly ended right as he got to where he needed to go. Ammon wrinkled his nose at the broken path jutting awkwardly out of the earth and turned his gaze to the monsterous... carcass that was slowly but surely being unearthed. The rhythmic _tink-tink_ of the pickaxes chipping away at it filled the air, punctuated by the occasional grunt or sharp voice. Ammon wondered how exactly something like that could get there.

Sighing through his nose, Ammon pulled the figurine out of his belt and examined it in the dim light. It resembled a feline, much like the nightsabers that roamed here, and thrummed with infused magic. He hummed in intrigue and prodded it, just to see if that what was needed to activate the magic.

"Brilliant. Gave me the bleedin' thing but never bothered to tell me how to _use_ it when I got there! _Great_ idea, druid, give the rogue that doesn't have a smidgen of magic a thing that needs magic to activate! Do I need to be _closer_ or what?"

Ammon took a large mocking step towards the pit and yelped when his body shifted and changed. He stared in absolute disbelief at the shadowy paw that was just his right hand and lifted it to his face to examine the very feline pads on his paws.

* * *

_**I don't know how you do it, Joanie, be so damned comfortable with your body** **changing** **its shape into one that's not yours. I'm still in shock. Is that how it felt when you first shifted your shape back in Gilneas?** _

_**After that, the recon mission was quite dossy. I only had to avoid these...things that didn't have eyes. They, somehow, could see me, as I learned when one of them came after me. They are really,** **really** **creepy to look at.** _

_**Anyway, what the Twilight's Hammer was doing was digging up a herald of the Old Gods, Soggoth the Slitherer. At that point I had to report back and, after I told them what I had overheard, sent me back out to go seek out this camp of dwarven archaeologists to see if they had more information. Of course, I had a certain mage tailing me...** _

* * *

"Ammon! Wait up!"

The rogue bit his lip to restrain an exasperated groan and turned to watch Orrin's charge through the trees. The mage's robes had more damage to them than they had that morning and Ammon could make out the distinct patterns of magically induced wounds on the cloth. His deep brown fur seemed a little dustier but his brown eyes danced with life.

"You need somethin' Orrin?" the rogue called when the worgen was close enough and he got a lively snort in answer.

Orrin slid to a stop in front of him and got to his feet. "I got done with the furbolgs and was just coming back when I saw you leaving. I wanted to go along with you and asked what your assignment was."

Ammon gave a short nod of understanding. "So you know what information we need to collect?"

Orrin grinned and one of his ears folded. Ammon thought he looked like an overgrown puppy; cute but a little dim. "Something about a Soggoth. Well, we can't keep everyone waiting, can we?"

The rogue sighed and waved for the worgen to follow. The mage easily kept pace, chatting about anything he could think of to Ammon's growing annoyance. At the very least the worgen kept his voice low as they trudged close to the Twilight's Hammer camp.

"How old are you?" Ammon finally asked as they got to the shore and turned south, more to derail the mage from his current topic than anything.

"I just had my twenty-fourth winter," Orrin said, as if he was ready for the question.

Ammon lifted a crimson brow at that. "You seemed much younger..."

The worgen laughed at that. "Many say that. It's my optimism and my 'bouncy' qualities, isn't it?"

Ammon hummed in agreement. He gave his companion a sidelong look and asked, "How can you remain so..."

"Happy?" Orrin interjected, his smile dimming slightly at the word. Ammon nodded.

The mage sighed and stopped entirely. The rogue paused himself after a few steps, turning to the suddenly pensive worgen. Ammon realized that he may have broached on a topic that had a deeper meaning to his companion.

"Someone has to be," Orrin said after a weighty silence, giving Ammon a serious stare. "With everything that has happened to us; the Night of Affliction, the breaching of the Wall, the death of our prince, the fall of Gilneas... Someone has to bring some light to people's lives. Otherwise we will fall into despair and, if that happens, everything will be lost. We would loose our will to fight, to live, and then we'd be nothing more than rotting lumps of meat. I've seen it before, when my father lost his business and ran away from it at the end of a rope. I made a promise to me mum that day to stay positive, no matter what happened, and then she wouldn't have to lose another beloved to her.

"My advice to you, Lord Delroy, is to look for the good in everything. I find that, if you keep a positive mindset, things won't seem as bad. And it'll be easier to find joy in circumstances that are otherwise not."

With that, Orrin gave him a small smile, turned and trudged on. Ammon watched him go with a perplexed look on his freckled face; he had _not_ expected the lively mage to have such a deep philosophy nor recognize him. With a start, Ammon realized how far away his companion was and sprinted to catch up.

"I'll keep that in mind," Ammon informed Orrin when he caught up to him. The worgen gave him a bright smile in answer.

* * *

"Hail the camp!" Ammon called out when the figures of the dwarven archaeologists came into sight.

"Hail!" one of the dwarves answered, waving a broad hand in greeting. "Are ye here to help wit' reclaimin' this here excavation?"

Before either of them could answer an angry gurgling had them spinning around. Ammon had to dance to his left as a spear struck the ground right where he'd been.

"What the-!"

Orrin shot off a ball of fire and struck a frog-fish-like thing in the side, stunning it. A fierce clicking near Ammon's feet caught his attention and he danced back as a bright blue crab snipped at his ankles. He huffed and kicked it as hard as he could, sending it sailing out of sight just as Orrin finished the other creature with a blast of arcane magic.

"What was that thing?!" Orrin panted, staring at the smoldering remains of the viscous creature with a look of horror.

A bleat of laughter came from the camp as they cautiously approached it. One of the dwarves was using one of the only wooden tables as support as he guffawed.

"Those?" he choked out, wiping fat tears from crinkled grey eyes, "Those be murlocs. You better git yerself antiquated with them! They be your next assignment!

* * *

_**I can tell you with the utmost confidence that I bloody** **hate** **murlocs! They are the most viscous, annoying things that have ever walked on this earth! They never attack alone either! They either have a pet, one of those crabs, or they bring three of its friends over to kill you! Orrin and I had a hell of a time trying to clear the excavation of them for it to be useless in the end!** _

_**Orrin went back to the Grove to report what the dwarves had told us while I stayed to help them. After the murloc thing, it wasn't too bad... They deduced that the reason why they were there in the first place was because the giant tidal wave wiped out their homes... So Archaeologist Groff had me collect driftwood and such from the beach and build them homes. I'm just thankful they decided I wasn't a threat anymore after that and let me go freely.** _

_**The most fun I had was when Archaeologist Ferd had me find and collect the fragments of this ancient device that hadn't made it in the tidal wave. He had me use this machine that could detect metal and I dug wherever it sensed something. This device was connected to the Titans, a subject I really want to learn more about, and when it was all put together showed us a really brief image of a being. I want to assume it was one of the Titans, but I really don't know.** _

_**They sent me back then, as they had no more work for me there. It didn't seem like it, but a lot more time had passed than I thought. It'd taken me all day to do the archaeologists' work and, by the time I got back, it was nearing evening. A lot had happened while I was gone...** _

* * *

"Ammon!" Balren shouted in greeting. There was an urgent look in his citrine eyes. "You've made it just in time!"

"In time for what?" the rogue replied cautiously, his hands slipping to the hilts of his daggers.

"Your companion has retrieved what we needed to stop the Twilight's Hammer here!" The elf pointed to where the Master's Glaive was. "They were forced to hasten their ritual and only summoned naught but a remnant of Soggoth! We are needed to help destroy it!"

Ammon's shoulders slumped at the prospect of more work but he straightened out as resolve retook him. He rolled his tired shoulders and popped his neck.

"Well, when do we leave?"

* * *

The battle was already in progress when Balren, Ammon, and several others arrived. Ammon gaped at the amount of tentacle-things—as he so eloquently calls them—in the pit. The huge red-tinged one beating on one of the largest Ancients he'd ever seen was the one that seized his attention, more specifically the small-in-comparison worgen darting around its feet.

"Orrin," Ammon breathed and he sprinted to join his side, ignoring the warnings Balren shouted after him. One of his countrymen was in danger and that's all he cared about.

"I was wondering when you'd get here!" Orrin laughed as he readied another spell, shooting it at one of the smaller tentacle-things charging towards them.

"Well, you know how murlocs are!" Ammon shot back, launching some of his throwing knives at it and grinned when it wailed in pain.

"Too true!" The mage shot off another fireball and watched the monster fall over, clutching its burning chest. "But, quite frankly, I'm getting real tired of this rubbish!"

"You don't say." Ammon widened his stance when the ground shook. The big red thing had driven the Ancient down to its knees and was striking its leaved head. "I hope you have a plan to take that thing down!"

"I do!" Orrin pulled out a very ancient looking horn and took a deep breath. A great ringing peal sang out of it a moment after, giving many of their enemies pause. A few moments passed with no change. Just as Ammon opened his mouth to suggest another course of action when the earth started to shake, a deep rumbling accompanying it. Fear gripped his heart and he looked wildly around him, hoping against hope that it wasn't what he thought it was. Movement caught his eye and the rogue spun around to gape at the herd of Ancients barreling towards them and, more importantly, the big ugly thing.

Orrin whooped from beside him, releasing a short victorious howl and slapped Ammon's back. "I told you I had a plan!"

"So you did," the rogue replied as he watched the Ancients slam into the red tentacle-thing and tear it apart. "So you did. You didn't need my help at all."

"Maybe not," his newfound friend quipped, a wide grin on his lupine lips, "But it was fun, right?"

Ammon glanced up at him and a small smile slipped onto his own lips. "Very."

* * *

_**It turns out that it was the Ancients that ringed the Grove of the Ancients that came to our aid. I should've seen it coming, but it was quite the sight seeing the otherwise benevolent beings tear that avatar from limb-to-limb. They left as soon as he was dead and were back in their frozen state when Orrin and I got back. To my surprise, Balren had a letter waiting for me. It was sealed with Stormwind's official seal and that was why he held it for me instead of leaving it in the Void for me to retrieve later. Well, that's what he said the postman had told him, anyway.** _

_**It was from Tess. She wrote that Cerd was making some progress but he wanted to see me as soon as I could manage it. I'm sure he would've written you if not for your duties to Prince Anduin. I may ask to peruse the Royal Library while I'm there, just to see if they have any information on the Titans. They intrigue me, Joan, more than any other subject I've heard of. Perhaps I'll find some of my answers there. I'll write when I find something interesting or when I'm back on the road. Whichever comes first I guess.** _


	2. Jeanne: A Day In the Life of a Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne writes about her first week on the job as Prince Anduin Wrynn's guard on the Exodar.

_**To** _ _**Ammon and Cerdic, if you're there,** _

_**I've quickly discovered that being a guard to someone isn't super exciting most of the time. It's been close to a week since I've arrived and the most excitement I've been getting is when the Prince is excused from his studies each day.** _

_**There's been an influx of human refugees here. There's close to a hundred as I write and will probably double by the time I write my next letter. Apparently, the Prophet Velen had foreseen the Cataclysm happening and they wish to see him... At least that's what I've heard them mutter whenever the Prince asked. He, and us guards by extension, has been helping hand out supplies and food to them. It's.. a new experience, and not all of that is positive...** _

* * *

"Lady Jeanne, could you hold this for me?"

A bundle of wound linen was pressed into her hands by a pair of smaller ones. Jeanne hummed and sidled to the Prince's side, watching him kneel before a dirt-caked child with the most gentle expression on his face.

"My Lady, may I see your arm? That doesn't look like it's healing very well, is it?"

The small girl's lip wobbled and she nodded, creeping closer to let him examine her. Anduin gnawed on his bottom lip as he carefully slid the girl's sleeve up her arm. She whimpered and flinched back, fat tears welling up in her round brown eyes.

"Ssshh, I'm not going to hurt you." he soothed, "How did you hurt yourself?"

She sniffed and wiped her tears away with her other dust-covered hand. "I-I was playin' an' I fell."

"Aah." Anduin smiled softly at her. "Next time you'll be a little more careful, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good girl." Anduin murmured a few words and all three of them watched as the prince's hands emitted a soft golden glow. The girl's face lit up in wonder and, after it had faded, carefully tested it out. A wide smile spread from ear to ear and she bounced up and down happily.

"You fix'd it! Thank you P'ince Andwin!"

Anduin grinned. "You're very welcome my Lady. Be careful this time, alright?"

"Yeah! I will! I pomise!"

With that, the little girl ran off, narrowly avoiding the corner of one of the empty supply crates still waiting to be retrieved. The prince sighed, shook his golden head, and stood. He absently brushed his trousers off as he looked around at the ramshackle mini city that had been hastily erected seemingly overnight. Jeanne looked around at it as well, noting the many dirty faces that seemed to grow every night.

"Thank you for assisting me," Anduin murmured, taking the bandages out of her hands and stowing them in a hip pouch he carried specifically for this. "I know it hasn't been the easiest thing for you to endure.

The worgen's nose wrinkled as she remembered the insults thrown at her earlier. "I couldn't just _let_ that bloody bird peck you to death, Your Highness. I also can't help that I happen to turn into a seven-foot tall wolf when I use a spell or two."

The human's lips twitched when she brought up the rather embarrassing incident. "Sorry about that... I should've known the striders would be more aggressive with everything going on."

Jeanne snorted and followed her liege when he started for the Exodar. "Everything's a learning experience, Your Highness. At least the refugees have fresh meat tonight."

"Yes, that is what's important. Vindicator Murua! I take it the food distribution went well!"

The female draenei and Jeanne's fellow guard bowed at Anduin's greeting. "Yes, Your Highness. They should be alright for the next few nights provided no one else comes."

"Thank you Vindicator. I think it's time we took our evening meal."

* * *

_**It seems that not everyone can see past their former prejudices... The insults came up as soon as I took my worgen form, even though I was protecting my liege and them by extension. I'm very thankful that Prince Anduin intervened before I could get my teeth into the wankers. Hypothetically, of course. It was strange to see full grown men reduced to shamefaced children by this boy's gentle chastising.** _

_**Anyway, how it works here is that after we've helped the refugees for the night, we take our evening meals and then us day guards hand over the duty to the night guards. Then we have the rest of the night off to do our individual errands. I've spent the last few nights just exploring the Exodar and trying to remember where everything is. Tonight was different, as I received permission to start up my garden in my quarters...** _

* * *

Jeanne sighed and played with the tips of her crimson-hued hair, fingering them thoughtfully. She had a small pile of gold coins sitting on her desk—what was left over from the forward on her payment to get herself supplied—and it was begging to be spent. She cast a critical eye around her bare quarters, occupied only by a bed, a desk with supplies already in it, a few glow crystals set up in sconces on the wall, and a pile of leather and cloth in the corner.

She huffed out another sigh, gathered up the pile of metal, and stashed it in her pack. The druid ignored the rest of her leather armour as she dug though it, pulled the belt out, and attached a pair of worn daggers to it—a parting gift from Ammon. Satisfied with her level of defense, she exited her chambers and padded down the hall. Her room needed a personal touch and she knew exactly what she wanted to do with it.

As with every time she passed through this chamber, the Seat of the Naaru took her breath away with how beautiful the beam of light was. The druid always took a moment to admire it before she set off in whatever errand she needed to accomplish. With a peaceful smile on her rosy lips, Jeanne headed around the beam and towards the Trader's Tier, where the person she needed to see was set up. It didn't take her too long for her to navigate the tiers of craftspeople to the small shop set up in the back.

Rows upon rows of ceramic wares lined the walls on sturdy wooden shelves. Bowls, plates, pots, cups, and vases of all sorts of sizes and colours sat proudly on them, glinting in the soft violet light. Behind the main shop sat a draenei hunched over a wheel, aqua hands caked in grey clay. Jeanne watched in awe as the woman masterfully shaped the slick lump into the rough form of a bowl with a few motions. It seemed as if it _wanted_ to become a bowl and eagerly obeyed the potter's patient touches, seemingly forming entirely on its own. The draenei only had eyes for her work, pale blue lips set in a concentrated line. It seemed as if she was in a world all of her own, the only things in it being her and the clay.

The potter made a few more subtle motions, adjustments to her creation, before pressing on a pedal underneath her hoof. The wheel spun to a stop and the woman took a thin length of wire with two wooden handles attached to each end, scraped it along the bottom of the base of the bowl, and carefully freed her creation from the surface of the wheel. It was only after she set it aside to dry did she notice the worgen standing just on the inside of her shop.

"Oh!" the potter chirped, dunking her muddy hands into a basin of water and quickly scrubbing them clean. "I apologize! I did not see you there! Were you looking to buy anything?"

Jeanne shook herself out of her amazed stupor and smiled reassuringly. "I passed by here a few nights ago and I was blown away by the quality of what you have here! I was hoping I could commission some wares from you. "

The draenei blushed a pretty blue at the compliments. "I do try my best, Lady Guard. I am afraid that my wares are nothing compared to the masters' work in Shattrath City. I hope that you will be satisfied with an apprentice's work."

The worgen dug around in her pack and withdrew the sack of gold coins, offering them to the potter. "I need a few flower pots made. I need them to hold multiple plants in each. How many will this get me?"

The potter took the sack and peeked into it, eyes widening at the amount. "My Lady, I could make you at least four for this much! Do you have a preference of colour or style?"

Jeanne hummed and cocked her head slightly. "Could you keep them green and red? The shades or styles don't matter to me."

"Certainly! I can have them all done in a fortnight, if that is acceptable. Unless you wish to pick them up as they are finished?"

"I think that would be better. I'm eager to start my garden up again."

The draenei nodded, an understanding smile on her lips. "I can empathize with that, my Lady." She offered her slightly damp hand to shake. "I am known as Urari the Potter."

Jeanne took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake. "Jeanne Delroy. Of course you already know I'm a guard here."

"Of course. You did create quite a stir, Lady Jeanne."

The worgen blinked, confused. "Whatever for?"

Urari gave her a small mysterious smile. "We have guards aplenty here for the human prince. It is rumoured that the Prophet sent a short message to King Varian of Stormwind requesting your presence specifically."

Jeanne lifted a brow at the potter, a skeptical look on her features. "I was told that a position in Prince Anduin's guard opened up and King Varian needed someone to replace them."

"Of course. However, why would Stormwind's king ask one of his biggest rivals' loyal citizen to 'replace' them if not for some outside pushing?"

That question struck the worgen dumb and she merely stared at the draenei, struggling for words. The potter smiled and turned away to set the pouch of gold aside. "Come back in four days and I will have the first pot done. Dioniss aca, Lady Delroy."

Jeanne recognized a dismissal when she heard one and turned to make her way back to her quarters. The question, voiced in such a patient way, echoed though her mind and she had little choice but to stew on it. Why _did_ the king ask her to do this? Surely he had better candidates for the job than she, a worgen he'd never spoken to. Did the Prophet really press for her to be the one? _Why?_ Sure, she did speak to the wizened leader, but she never thought she'd make such an impression on him. And what was with him saying that 'she and her siblings were destined for great things'? Did he see something—

"Lady Jeanne?"

Jeanne, startled by the familiar voice, spun around and spat out the first thing that came to mind.

"Wotcha cocker."

Prince Anduin pulled himself up short with furrowed brows. "Pardon?"

The Gilnean shook her head slightly, a small flush on her cheeks. "Sorry... Wasn't paying attention..."

The boy chuckled. "You Gilneans have a very odd way of speaking. What did you say?"

"Err..." Jeanne tugged on a strand of her hair. "It roughly translates to, 'Hello friend'."

The confusion lifted from Anduin's features. "Ah. How interesting." A tiny smile played at the corners of his lips. "Would you care for a chat while we're both here?"

The worgen blinked. "If you care to, Your Highness." She glanced around, a sheepish look crossing her features. "I'm afraid I just spent the last of my pay, so I can't purchase anything..."

He held up a hand, silencing her. He stuck a hand in a pocket of his—rather elaborate—evening clothes and pulled out a small handful of silver coin. "I think, just this once, I'll cover this. What would you like to eat?"

"Erm... Why don't we see what they have first?"

"Alright. I'm sure there's a vendor nearby."

* * *

_**This is the first time Prince Anduin had wanted to talk to me specifically since I gave him my letter of introduction. It's actually pretty strange to have someone of great importance to wanna sit down and just... talk. The Greymanes are an exception, because we were raised with them. I do suppose it's another reason I'm here but... this feels different somehow. I can't put my finger on how, but it is...** _

* * *

Jeanne and Anduin found a small table to sit, their light meals in hand and the nighttime guards a small distance away. The druid felt... awkward, to be talking to her liege like this, especially since he's taken little interest in getting to know her this past week.

As if he read her mind, the prince leaned towards her, planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fingers. He examined her for a few moments before speaking, "I have to apologize for putting this off until now. My studies are more intensive then I thought they would be."

Jeanne blinked, a little shocked at the lack of proper manners, but casually shrugged a shoulder. "I understand how it is; Malfurion's was pretty much the same, I'd reckon."

Anduin cocked his head slightly. His cornflower eyes glinted in curiosity. "How did you manage to apprentice under Archdruid Stormrage?"

The druid chuckled and took a swig from her goblet of moonberry juice. "Much like how you managed to apprentice under the Prophet Velen, Your Highness. It was right for both of us."

The prince hummed and took a bite of his light soup. There was a beat of silence as he stewed on his next question before saying, "I've been meaning to ask you. Why were you there both times when I met with Velen? Back in Darnassus, I mean."

At this Jeanne snorted. "My garden was planted on the other side of the island. The first time I was there to relax after the banquet when Velen chose to meditate there. I was content on tolerating his presence before you sought him out."

"So when you said that we interrupted your peace..?"

"It was true. Though I was still guilty of eavesdropping."

The prince huffed a laugh and took a sip of his water. "I suppose the second was about the same?"

At this Jeanne's lips tightened and her brows furrowed slightly. She set her goblet down and sighed, leaning forward and steepling her fingers. After a moment of terse silence she met his eyes and he saw all mirth melt out of hers.

"You... you have to understand that we lost _everything_. Our homes, the country we were so proud of, our friends, family... prince... and for many of us for awhile, our humanity."

Jeanne barely restrained the urge to pull out her ring and fiddle with it as a wave of grief gripped her heart. She swallowed heavily and, with a force of will, continued.

"We _need_ a place to belong in this world where we can make ourselves useful. It's not in a Gilnean's nature to simply bum off of someone else and not find a way to repay them.

"What your father did, at the summit, was deny us that chance to make a living in this world that we were thrust into. He condemned us to starvation and extinction because we are too proud a people to continue living off of the elves' generosity. Just because our king made a choice _many of us had no say in_."

The druid flexed her fingers stiffly and made an effort to unclench her jaw. She could feel Ammon's worry about her sudden mood change in the back of her mind but she pushed it away. Anduin was deadly still on the other side of the table, his face an unreadable mask.

"I was angry... beyond angry. Livid. I needed to take out my fury in a place where I couldn't harm someone else accidentally, so I retreated to my garden again. That time Velen sought me out because he knew that the decision seriously miffed me."

Jeanne glanced up at her companion and offered him a morose smile. "Then you arrived. I had to excuse myself then before I said something I'd regret later. I'd reckon it was a good call; I didn't expect to be asked to be your guard right after the Battle for Ashenvale."

Anduin remained silent, chewing on her words as they both finished their meals. For the second time in her life, Jeanne wondered if she'd said too much and tarnished herself in this boy's eyes. That thought disturbed her more than she thought it should and it left her feeling uncertain and distressed. She dropped her eyes to her now empty plate and her fingers fiddled with her fork.

"Thank you for telling me that, Jeanne." Anduin's voice startled her and her stare flew up to meet his. His blue eyes swirled with mixed emotions too quickly to pin down just one. The druid thought she glimpsed pain in them more than once. "I'm even more thankful for my father's change of heart."

She remained quiet, choosing to examine the boy in front of her for a long moment. "As am I. For more than my people's survival."

Jeanne grinned when she saw confusion flash across his gaze before realization took its place. His cheeks pinked slightly as he cleared his throat and glanced away. "Perhaps it's time for me to retire..."

The druid hummed in agreement, feeling the day's excitement weigh heavily on her shoulders and eyelids. "Do you need an escort..?"

Anduin shook his head and inclined it towards the two draenei still standing guard nearby. "Thank you but it's not necessary. I will see you on the morrow. Goodnight Lady Jeanne."

She inclined her head respectively. "Of course. Goodnight Prince Anduin."

He gave her one last smile before standing and, with a gesture to his guards, left to his quarters. Jeanne watched him go, a strange mix of satisfaction and confusion curling in her chest. As soon as he was out of her sight, the druid heaved a tired sigh, clambered to her feet, and headed back to her own rooms.

* * *

_**As I write this letter, I've come to a realization. I want to know more about this boy. I want to be his friend. I know, you're probably swooning in shock, but I really feel like I need to do this. It's not going to be simple... I've noticed that Anduin doesn't open up easily. But I think I got some progress today... He's curious about me and Gilneas and that's a start.** _

_**I'll write again if something happens here; I won't bore you with details of my typical day in future letters. Don't do anything overly stupid, Ammy. I give Tess my full permission to beat you senseless in my stead.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this, I realized that the chapters will be different lengths depending on how much interesting content there is. There will be some minor time skips between letters, but that'll be addressed within the letters, such as here.


	3. Ammon: Into the Badlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ammon writes about the bullcrap he had to endure to get to the Badlands in the first place.

_**Dear** _ _**Joan,** _

_**Thanks for that. Really. Tess said that 'she'll take this onerous duty with the greatest solemnity'. Bloody hell, you've rubbed off on her. Too much for my liking.** _

_**At least you made her smile... She hadn't been doing too much of that lately. Cerdic's progress is still going slow. I couldn't made heads nor tails of the magical healing rubbish the priests prattled at me, but Tess said that they were having a hard time finding and repairing all the damaged nerves in his lower half. Why they couldn't just say that in the first bleedin' place is beyond me. He can move his legs a little and he was starting to sit up.** _

_**At least, that was a month ago. He's probably progressed more, but I dunno if Tess has sent you a letter herself. She was being awfully stubborn about using parchment now that she's learned how it's made. You druids are a confusing lot. They say 'hello' if she hasn't.** _

_**Anyroad, I've been quite busy this past month. I spent a week with Cerdic and reading everything the Royal Library has on the Titans, which wasn't much. However, this chap that ran a few classes on archaeology told me that more information could be found in the dwarves' capital, Ironforge, if they were willing to part with it. I think his name was Harrison Jones or something like that...** _

_**After that, I said my goodbyes to Tess and Cerd and I made my way to Ironforge...** _

* * *

Ammon heaved a relieved sigh when he stepped out of the Deeprun Tram and into fresher air. He had to admit, it was incredibly convenient to have such quick transportation from one capital to another, but it smelled worse than a Forsaken outpost in summer down there. Not to mention it was _infested_ with rats! Maybe it was the noble in him outweighing the rogue, but rats still made his skin crawl.

As soon as his nostrils cleared, the rogue took his first good look around. He knew from the maps in Stormwind that he was in the gnome area called Tinker Town, and found that it fit the area quite well. He felt it was quite quaint in a mechanical kind of way. Gears both served as decorations, most notably at the entryways to both tunnels going opposite ways and flanking either side of a rather talkative gnome. The walls and floors were made up of seemingly haphazard panels of metal. The archways were comically huge in comparison to the tiny stature of the gnomes that scurried to and fro. There was constant noise, ranging from the rumbling of the giant gears to the clanking of wrenches. Unlike the damp stench of the Tram, here it smelt more of grease, electricity, and bad ideas.

After eyeing the closest of the gigantic spinning gears with no small amount of trepidation, Ammon pulled out the map he'd purchased in Stormwind and examined his current location. The handsome bloke said something about a hall... Ah! The Hall of Explorers! The Gilnean glanced at the rightmost tunnel, back at the map, nodded, and promptly put it away. Confident on where he needed to go, the rogue flicked his bangs out of his eyes and made his way through the tunnel.

"Bloody hell..."

Words more eloquent than that failed him when he got a first look at the Hall. He craned his neck up and gaped in wonder and awe at the sheer height of the chamber. The rogue started a bit as he remembered that all of this was hand carved by the dwarves themselves. Respect flooded his being as his gaze flowed down the intricate carvings, taking note of every detail. His fingertips tingled and itched with the urge to run them along the smooth, cool stone. The musty odor of old books and ink tickled at Ammon's nose; he could taste it when his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. To his left, towards the main chamber of Ironforge, the sounds of hammer blows and sizzling could be heard, punctuated with the occasional shout or grunt. Closer to the center of the hall, however, the shuffling of pages and whispered conversations hung on the air like motes of dust.

Ammon was brought back to reality by the shuffling of footsteps on stone floor. A sense of giddiness gripped his soul and he allowed a pleased grin to slip onto his lips. With an excited waggle of restless fingers, he set off in search of the librarian and more knowledge.

* * *

_**Joanie, I cannot begin to tell you how brilliant this place is! There were bones of long extinct creatures hanging from the ceiling! And a skull that, I kid you not, was longer than I am tall! The library was stonking! It was filled from the top of the ceiling to the floor with so many books and scrolls! I about had an apoplexy at the sight of it all!** _

_**The 'Lead Explorer' dwarf was a lot less helpful. Apparently you have to be part of their little society, the League of Explorers, to get any information on the Titans. Complete rubbish.** _

_**As I was leaving, though, I happened to overhear two of the 'members' quietly discussing one of the recent digs in a place called the Badlands. Of course, I was all ears from my little shadowy corner. There was a dig that'd started about a week before that was having issues with the Horde archaeologists. One of them even mentioned how a goblin loaned them his rocket—at this place called 'Light's Hope' mind you—and committed daylight robbery on them and now the League was going bonkers about it. Needless to say, I hopped onto the next gryphon headed there.** _

* * *

" _Lovely_ place. Absolutely charming."

The statement was, of course, dripping with as much sarcasm the Gilnean could muster. He peered down at the rapidly passing scenery, hand firmly in place over his mouth and nose in an attempt to keep the stench of rotting flesh at bay. He wasn't successful and his stomach churned with disgust. Or was that from flying on this blasted bird? Who knows.

"Well, I should've expected as much from a place called the Plaguelands..."

He scanned the scenery once again, skimming over the sickly orange tint the air seemed to have. A pocket of bright green snatched his attention and he sighed at the walled fortress. It oozed with health, from the immaculately trimmed line of trees extending from either side of the chapel to the small fields of grass that covered the rest of the ground. It was certainly a sight for sore eyes; he was getting really tired of being in a saddle.

Ammon let out a startled squeak when the gryphon tilted downwards. Both of his hands scrambled for the reigns and held on tightly when he finally landed. The rogue huffed, gave the bird a peeved glare, and quickly dismounted. He was more than content on leaving the blasted thing to the care of the flight master and never ride one again.

Absently chewing on his bottom lip, Ammon wandered around until he found the rocket-possessing goblin he was looking for. He was a bit taken aback at the fierce scowl the bat-eared creature had and decided to wait and watch him for a bit. The goblin muttered under his breath as he grabbed a tool seemingly at random from beside him, promptly reached into the rocket and started fiddling with something inside.

"You want somethin' Ginger?" he grunted, beady eyes never leaving his work. "Don't ya have anythin' better t' do?"

The rogue started slightly at being addressed and cleared his throat. "Erm... I was told you were offering transportation to the-"

"Yeah, yeah," the goblin waved him into silence, finally glancing over at him. "No can do righ' now, Ging. My baby here's gone on the fritz after taking a whole herd of dwarves an' their supplies to Fuselight."

Ammon leaned over slightly to read the rocket's name. His lips twitched in an involuntary grin.

"So... _The Uncrashable_... crashed?"

The goblin threw him a glare that told him exactly where he could stick it.

"When do you think it'll be fixed?"

Audibly gritting his teeth, the goblin sighed and leaned back on his heels. He cast a heartbroken look over the disemboweled rocket and ran a hand over the sparse hair on his head.

"Can't tell ya, rogue. I'm gettin' new parts shipped in from Fuselight. They could be here tomorrow or next week, an' then I'll need another day to get 'er fixed up. If I were you, an' if you _really_ need this ride, I'd get comfortable. Make yerself useful or somethin'; the uptight paladins here always have something that needs doin'."

Ammon bit his lip and nodded once. "Well, when do you get that shipment in, give us a shout."

The short man was already half inside the rocket again and absently waved him off. "Yeah, no problem. Have fun killing zombies Ginger!"

With a heavy sigh through his nose, Ammon spun on his heel and marched to the large chapel planted squarely in the middle of the fortress. Mind as well get the bothersome introductions out of the way if he was to be there for awhile. Who knows, he might scrape up enough coin to put into Jeanne's current account before she noticed a few gold missing.

* * *

_**It took a bleeding week and a half for the damned supplies to get there. The goblin, who eventually introduced himself as Gek Nozzlerocket, never told me why it took so bloody long, but I suspect that they had to be specially made and shipped from wherever their main facilities are set up. It took Gek another day to fix it and then, finally, I was off to this place called Fuselight.** _

_**To be perfectly honest, I think I'd rather ride another damned griffon than that rocket again. The whole thing was much too noddy for my taste and I was having kittens practically the entire way! I'd rather walk back to Stormwind before I take another one of those contraptions!** _

_**Anyroad, Fuselight's not too bad if you can overlook the death-traps these green buggers are fond of. They've told me that the dig I was looking for was a little ways away but they'd happily send someone to show me, povided I do a few favours for them here. So, I've been doing small things to help them in exchange for a reduced price in rent here. Killing ogre magi—** _ **that** _**was peachy; I still have burns from those bastards—stealing their magic rod-stick things, and punching goats. Yeah. Really. I enjoyed that more than I should have, honestly. Got some nice coin out of it!** _

_**Today was a little odd. One of the goblins, a bloke called Dolph, called me over after I returned from playing with the ogres some more and handed me a package...** _

* * *

"Hey, human! Come'ere for a minute! I've got something for you."

Ammon sighed and changed direction mid-stride. His bags were uncomfortably full of junk he'd looted from the ogres and his stomach growled for a bite of dinner. He'd intended on finding a merchant to pawn his useless finds on in exchange for supplies for a well earned, hot meal. He even had a recipe in mind and most of the supplies he needed.

"Wotcher Dolph."

The goblin waved to a small crate laying at his feet, a perplexed look on his face. Ammon fiddled with the hilts of his daggers as he waited for the man to continue.

"A young lady, rather pretty too now that I think about it, came into town shortly before you showed up. Said that she was researching something down in Lethlor Ravine and was looking for a few things here. She wanted compressed blasting powder, a tempered mithril bomb casing, and some safety goggles. Now, the blasting powder and bomb casings we had plenty of, but the goggles were harder to find."

The rogue fought to keep his expression neutral. Of course the goggles were the things that hung up the explosion-loving creatures. The goblin went on, oblivious.

"We finally found a pair but she's returned to her studies in the Ravine. Would you bring these down to her?"

Ammon sighed through his nose and eyed the shorter man. "What happened to our deal on someone taking me to the dig?"

"Hey, I never said that was off! As soon as you come back from this little errand I'll have someone take you!"

Ammon knew a lie when he saw one; it was written all over the goblin's body language. However, he was exhausted, hungry, and didn't need an argument right in the middle of town. Against his better judgment, the rogue nodded stiffly and swung the crate onto his hip.

"Is that all?"

Dolph nodded. "Come back as soon as the lady is done with'cha and we'll get you on your merry way!"

Relieved that he was finally done, Ammon spun on his heel and headed towards the nearest merchant; He'd deliver this first thing in the morning. For now, he had a well earned meal waiting for him and a letter long overdue.

* * *

_**When you get this, I'll probably be elbow deep in sand and learning something about the beings that created us. My errand shouldn't take more than an hour, depending on if this mysterious lady has anymore tasks for me. I think coming here, despite the faffing around, will be a useful venture.** _

_**Oh, could you post some of those healing potions you make? I've just run out of my supply and they're always useful in a pinch.** _

_**I'll keep you updated on what I learn, when I can. Parchment out here is scarce and quite expensive. I've got enough for a few letters but I'll need more soon. Be careful who you get close to, Joanie. Royalty always comes to bad ends and I don't need you caught up in that. A bit late to be saying this, I know, but I have a feeling that you've signed up for more than you think. Tread carefully, Jeanne; I'm not there to rescue you again.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Ammon uses Gilnean (British) slang and curses quite liberally, let me know if you need a translation. To any Brits out there reading, please LET ME KNOW if i'm using these correctly! I'm just an American that tries her hardest to research these things, but I'm bound to get things wrong. Cultural differences and all.


	4. Cerdic: Healing... Too Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to take a look into how Cerdic and Princess Tess is faring after nearly two months in Stormwind.

_**Dear Ammon,** _

_**Cerdic has made a bit more progress since you've left. He can sit up with help, but only for a short time before it becomes too painful. It is progress at least, praise the Light. The priests are still unsure if he'll be able to walk again. I think he will; you Delroys are an incredibly stubborn lot.** _

_**Now that he is able to sit up, he has been fairly insistent with looking over your family's business reports. The last ship that sailed out was headed to Booty Bay in Stranglethorn Vale, so he tells me. He had the ship recalled back to Stormwind and it should arrive within the month. It truly astounds me how your brother managed to establish trading routes to such faraway places while we were still behind our wall. I suppose it is more your father's doing that Cerdic carries on.** _

_**However, there is... another issue I would like to talk to you about...** _

* * *

 

Light, measured footsteps echoed softly through the stone hall. The subtle _click clack_ of her guards' claws on the same stone punctuated her steps. The hall itself smelt of dust, moisture, heat and disuse. The wing that was gifted to the Royal Family of Gilneas (plus the eldest male from the Noble House of Delroy) hadn't been used in decades; not since the golden days of King Llane Wrynn, or so Tess had been told. That didn't stop them from making themselves (almost) at home within the hastily-aired rooms when they arrived almost two months ago. It was luxurious compared to the tree they'd made in Darnassus and full of items that she hadn't known she sorely missed.

The princess counted the doors as she passed and paused at the fourth-on-the-left door. Tess barely gave a glance to her two worgen guards as they split and flanked the doorway and lightly knocked on the worn wood. She waited a few moments, to give him a fair warning, before turning the handle and slipping into the room.

The room itself was almost identical to her own rooms, in which it had a simple yet spacious withdrawing room that one had to go through to enter the bedroom. All that it truly contained right now was a long couch, a low table, and a few wooden bookshelves, empty of books.

Tess swept past the meager furnishings and opened the door across the room from the first one. The princess blinked at the sudden draft she felt against her face, the strong smell of water and trees, and the almost blinding amount of sunlight streaming from the open window. It was only when her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day (again) did she make out the man she wanted to see.

Cerdic was sitting up, to her surprise, and staring out the window. He was in his worgen form. At first glance, the princess noted the way the breeze ruffled the short fur on his face, the sunlight glistening off his hazelnut coat, and how the musky, walnut-y scent of him was intensified in the sticky heat of Stormwind. Upon further inspection, however, she could see the way his ears were tilted back, the frown weighing his lupine lips downward, and the somber, faraway look in his eye.

One of his great hands shifted on his lap and the light crinkling drew Tess's eye. At first, she thought he'd produced yet another shipping report (even though she'd sent the report out herself on the way to her training earlier that morning), but she caught a glimpse of the penmanship on the parchment and knew that he held all of the letters he'd received from his siblings.

“Do you think Ammon has begun his dig by now?” Cerdic asked quietly, startling Tess back into the present.

She noticed that his voice was hallow. Her heart throbbed in response. She'd noticed him using that tone more and more as the days passed.

“Probably,” she said, slipping closer and seating himself on the edge of his bed. “Probably having the time of his life, digging in the sand. You know how the boy always liked getting muddy.”

His lips twitched a hair upward and then sunk deeper. Tess's heart stung at the failure; her subtle attempt to get him to lighten up, if for a few moments. His left ear flickered, a tell-tale sign that he was pondering his next question.

“Do you think Jeanne is liking her job? I worry about her not getting along with her charge.”

The princess clenched her jaw, picking her words carefully this time. “It sounded like she was enjoying it. She did seem rather determined to get to know Prince Anduin.”

He hummed and shifted. His lupine features contorted and a slight whine rose out of his throat. Tess was on her feet almost instantly and bustling towards the head of the bed.

“How long have you been up?” she asked, a touch of reprimand in her soft voice as she grabbed a small glass bottle from the bedside table.

“Tess, I'm—f”

“I swear to Elune if you say 'fine' I will swat your nose! Cerd, you cannot be overexerting your back!” Tess glowered at him as she uncorked the potion and shoved it into his large hands. He growled slightly, wrinkled his snout, and tilted it carefully down his throat. She took the empty bottle from him, set it back on the table, and helped ease his massive body into the bed properly.

“How do you expect me to increase my tolerance to this if you people won't allow me to push myself!”

“Do you want to suffer another setback?” Tess shot back, gathering the small stack of parchment and stowing it away in the bedside drawer. She could feel his glare boring into her back. “The priests had to re-heal your spine because you tried to force yourself to walk!”

“Well, ex _-cuse_ me for not wanting to be a useless lump of fur for the rest of my life, Princess!”

That had her whirling back around. She stared at him like he'd grown another head. He couldn't even meet her eye and instead stared down at the long lumps that were his blanket-covered legs. His ears were pinned against his skull and a sneer exposed the long fangs normally hidden underneath his upper lip.

“How do you expect me to care for my sister like—like _this!”_ He demonstrated his point by barely twitching his toes. “Truly, Tess! I know Jeanne will not take a husband, so it falls to me to care for her! How can I uphold our family name if _I cannot walk!_ ”

He took a deep breath and covered his eyes with a hand. His form was shaking and Tess ached to find some way to comfort him.

“I dislike—no. I _despise_ this-this! Ineptitude! To the very depths of my soul! I loathe not being able to do anything I wish! I cannot even write my own letters! And I truly hate being cared for by grown men in _dresses!_ ”

Despite the severity of his despair, Tess loosed an amused sigh at the complaint. Only Cerdic would care for the state of dress his caretakers were in; she had a feeling that he only excused her because she was Gilneas's princess and that she often came here straight after training.

“I wish that they could do _something_ to heal me faster! Do you realize how bleeding _hot_ it is here when you're covered head-to-toe with thick fur? I feel as if I am going to ignite into flames any second here!”

Tess sighed and retook her seat at the edge of his bed. She reached out, grasped one his thick thumb in her small hand, and stroked a thumb over the rough pad there. He stilled and watched her with wide—and slightly watery—eyes as she stewed on the right words to offer him right now.

“Cerdic, are we in Gilneas?” she asked gently, fingers leaving his thumb to absentmindedly trace patters on his palm.

His face twitched into obstinate confusion. “Tess, you know—"

“Answer the question.”

“...No, we aren't. Where ar—”

“So, if we are not in Gilneas, does Gilneas's rules of society and propriety apply here?”

His features stilled into stone. She could see that he now grasped at what she was trying to get at. “ _We_ are still Gilneans, Tess, so yes we should uphold our traditions.”

Tess tilted her head and gave him a steely stare. “Gilneas has fallen. For now,” she added, seeing the betrayed look in his eye. “We are in Stormwind, who has _not_. They follow a different set of rules here. A man much wiser than I once said that if you find yourself in an unfamiliar place and you need to survive, you—”

“Do as they do,” Cerdic finished hollowly, giving Tess the most desperate look she'd seen on him in a long time, “That was my father's favourite saying. But—”

Tess held up a finger, halting him mid-sentence. “No buts, Cerd. I say that we must put aside our long held traditions to survive in a place that is unfamiliar to us. Perhaps, even some, need to be tossed away altogether.

“Jeanne will make her own way in this world on her own two feet and her own terms. She is not a little girl anymore, Cerd. She is capable, trust me.”

Tess leaned forward and, throwing propriety to the wind, cupped his furry cheek to look at her. His eyes widened even more than they were, giving an accurate imitation of a deer in torchlight. She gave him a small smile and, daringly, stroked the fur with a thumb.

“You need to focus on taking care of yourself at the rate your _body_ gives, not your mind. You ar- _were..._ Liam's... best friend and one of my dearest ones. It hurts to see you like this, pushing yourself for this silly societal rule that, quite frankly, I've never been fond of. I know very well that Jeanne _loathed_ it, and she would not want you to hurt yourself further for her.”

Soul-gripping sorrow gripped the princesses heart and her eyes clenched shut. Even though it'd been close to three and a half months since her brother's death, she still _longed_ for him. She'd always expect him to come around the corner, calling her name out and brandishing the latest newspaper from Gilneas. They'd made a ritual, early on in their youth, to read the newspaper together curled beside her roaring fireplace. It'd started out as a way for Liam to help her with her words and they continued it as a way to bond.

“I miss him too.” Cerdic's gravelly voice startled her out of her memories and she opened her eyes to see him tugging a square of linen out of his beast pocket. A small watery smile lifted her lips as she accepted it and wiped her tears away. A tiny humourless laugh bubbled out of her throat as she offered the damp cloth back to him.

“Oh dear me, I apologize—”

“Don't.” Cerdic gave her a gaze brimming with sympathy. “Don't apologize for your grief. We never were allowed a period for grieving, so we must take it now.”

The woman sniffled, nodded, and allowed Cerdic to carefully rest a hand upon hers. She accepted the silent support she felt from him and steadfastly ignored the weird churning in her stomach. Maybe she was hungry.

“Would-,” she started, stopping to clear her throat, “Would you care for something to eat? Your evening healing should be soon and you know how you get after.”

Cerdic wrinkled his nose. “I dislike how sleepy the healings make me. A meal would be grand, Tess.”

An amused giggle hiccuped out of her throat before she could stop it. She waved a hand at the worgen's raised eyebrow and stood. “I'll have a servant bring it up. I've got a letter to pen also.”

“Bah. I wish you'd allow me to write my own letters.”

The princess sighed but said nothing more, instead leaving his bedroom. She crossed the withdrawing room, poked her head out the door, and smiled softly at one of her worgen guards.

“Avery, would you be a dear and ask the maiden to bring up meals for Baron Delroy and I?”

“Certainly, Your Highness. Anything in particular you would like?”

“I think the usual for Baron Delroy and I. Thank you.”

* * *

 

_**He's been progressing fine physically. Slowly, but fine. I worry for his mental state though... He is not the same Cerdic he was before all of this rubbish happened. He is... withdrawing into himself, and trying to push me out. I won't allow that, of course. He is one of my dearest friends and I refuse to allow him to push me away, even if he hates me for it.** _

_**I recall another time similar to this, not too long ago. How did you manage to bring him out of that? I cannot ask Jeanne; I believe she was training with Celestine at the time and does not have much knowledge of it. I also believe that was yours and Cerdic's design...** _

_**Any advice would be more than welcome, Ammy. I do not like the path he seems to be going. How is your dig going? Find anything interesting yet? How are the dwarves? Your brother is adamant about me penning those questions to you. I think it would cheer him some if you sent something back; perhaps a common but meaningful object? Be safe out there, alright? For all of our sake.** _

 


	5. Jeanne: Incident at the Exodar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation with the refugees blows up and Jeanne is getting a taste of what her job truly entails.

_**Dear** _ _**Tess and Cerdic,** _

_**You have no idea how much it heartens me to hear you're making progress. Thank you for looking after him, Tess. It means so much to me.** _

_**Unfortunately, I don't have much good news to report this time around. Do you remember my last few letters, about the refugees that have been coming by the boatload? Well, there's about a thousand as I write this letter. This entire situation blew up earlier today and that's why I'm writing you now.** _

_**I'll start at the beginning of this 'conflict'. A week ago I was escorting Prince Anduin with my fellow guard around Azuremyst Isle...** _

* * *

"What exactly is that... _thing?"_

The words were out of Jeanne's mouth before she could stop them. Before her was, what looked like, a sack of pale flesh with horns and teeth. It scooted along the blue-hued grass several yards away from them on its tentacle-like legs, drooling and spouting gibberish as it went. It stunk of magic and this odd floral scent that she couldn't identify but made her nose twitch regardless.

"That," Vindicator Murua sighed and Jeanne drug her stare to the draenei, "is a mutation. It's impossible to tell what it might have originally been. Our... arrival on Azeroth caused several of the wildlife to mutate in horrific ways. Once, we made it our mission to heal the land, but with the opening of the Dark Portal... and the rise of the undead Scourge... and now the Cataclysm..."

"Your forces were directed elsewhere," Anduin finished sadly.

The druid glanced down at him, taken aback at his tone. His stare was trained on the lasher in front of them and sympathy was written all over his features. As she watched, his expression shifted to one akin to sorrow and then determination steeled his face.

"Hold it still," the Prince ordered, shaking back his sleeves. "We have to help it somehow."

Both guards glanced at him in surprise but obeyed nonetheless. They carefully flanked the creature and, on a silent signal, lunged at it. The mutation growled and flailed its arms in an attempt to flee, but their combined strength held it fast in the mud.

Anduin knelt before it, heedless of the mud staining his trousers, and observed it struggle and snap. He reached out with both of his hands and gently set them on the struggling mutation. It froze for a split second and doubled its efforts. Jeanne grunted and held onto it just a bit tighter, making a face when it turned and bit her gloved hand. She drug her disgruntled stare from the creature up to Anduin as he murmured words under his breath. A soft golden light illuminated his hands and flowed into the flesh beneath them. The mutation showed no sign of being hurt, though it struggled as if it was.

_"_ _He's trying to heal it,"_ the druid thought in realization, squinting at the magic.

They sat there in the cold mud for several long minutes, watching the prince work his healing. The two guards startled as the form they were holding shifted and changed under their hands. Before them sat a broad-petaled plant creature, beautiful and glowing a soft white. Jeanne felt an immediate connection to it and she sucked in a breath when she, for a brief second, felt what it felt. An intense warmth filled her being from the inside out, reaching like fiery tendrils into every inch of her limbs and petals. It was soothing, like the sun shining upon it, and the sense of being _whole_ after so long was so welcome.

The warmth faded and the druid was jerked back to reality. She snatched her hand away from it as if it burned her and sucked in a shuttering breath. She ignored the draenei's stare on her and tried to regain her bearings. Malfurion had warned her of that; connecting with the plants that had a high sense of self. She hadn't believed him until now and wishes she did.

"I would imagine it feels a lot better now."

"It does," Jeanne murmured without thought, forcing herself to focus on his words and not the lingering memory of warmth. The air felt so cold without it now.

There was a beat of silence as her companions scrutinized her before Anduin sighed and stood. The druid mimicked his actions and gazed around at the multitude of mutations still mulling about.

"Are we to do as many as we can?" Murua asked, stepping up beside the prince. He nodded.

"Yes."

Jeanne sighed and rubbed her arms. Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

They worked for several hours, slowly sorting through them. They made a sizable dent in the numbers by the time one of Velen's Shields came to retrieve the prince.

As with every single one of the previous plant-creatures they healed, Jeanne had unwittingly connected with the lasher and was gritting her teeth at the discomfort and confusion it felt. The healing magic was too hot, like tea that hadn't cooled enough to drink, and stung the druid through her connection. As the lasher was healed, the burning heat became like a warm bath. It soothed rather than confused and, soon enough, she was jerked back to reality by a flurry of movement.

She stood slower than she should have, mind still fogged by the afterglow that only healing could produce, and blinked at the massive male draenei dressed in ornate armour.

"The Prophet has asked to see you, Prince Anduin."

Anduin only nodded and gestured for his guards to follow. Jeanne took her place at the prince's left side and trailed dutifully. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides, jittery from the echoes of magic still fresh in her mind. The druid never expected to experience _this_ side of her calling.

Too soon for her liking, the group came up on the outskirts of the massive refugee camp. Her ears flicked at how quiet the area became at the sight of the prince and his guards and the whispers that buzzed after. A flare of indignation rose up at the hissed insults and slurs that they uttered, some towards her and many towards the prince himself.

_"_ _Alien's pet,"_ Jeanne heard a man comment as they passed their campfire. "The Prophet sees the boy but refuses to see us?"

One of his companions spat into the fire. "Eh, he 'cides to keep comp'ny wit' a mutt. Not righ' in my 'pinion."

"Aye. _Prince's_ _lapdog_."

The worgen had to work to resist the urge to turn around and lash out at them. She even had a few choice words ready at the tip of her tongue. The last time she did she got a scolding from Anduin himself about how they needed to show them kindness and help them wherever they could. His words cut her to the quick, even though he'd never raised his voice. The druid found she absolutely _hated_ hearing the disappointment in his voice and never wanted it aimed at her again.

Thankfully, the trip through the shantytown passed quickly and Jeanne breathed a tiny sigh of relief to finally be out of the path of so many accusatory stares. She couldn't help but to be bitter about it; all she's ever done, aside from her few spats, was help them. Gave them food and wrapped what wounds Anduin couldn't heal, and even those were growing fewer as he learned more from the Prophet. She honestly couldn't care less if they'd ever get to see the Prophet; she just wanted them gone.

* * *

_**It was... hard to just ignore their insults. You know how I am; I live to defend our honour and the honour of my company. To just... do nothing... even when the Prince himself was insulted, was infuriating. How dare they insult the people that cared for them. Us Gilneans, even in out so-called 'cowardice' have more respect than these free-loaders.** _

_**Anyroad, we stopped at the Prince's quarters to allow him to change his muddy clothes before we escorted him to see the Prophet. Not an unusual occurrence in itself, but this one was different than the others before it.** _

* * *

Jeanne chewed on her bottom lip and resisted the urge to sigh impatiently. Her fingers thrummed on her leather encased thighs in a steady rhythm. Her feet were starting to get sore from standing in one place for so long. For someone who's been doing this for almost four months, she'd think she'd be used to waiting while Prince Anduin attended his lessons.

She and Murua were assigned to wait for him just outside of The Prophet's reception room, placed on the outside of Velen's Shields. If they hadn't shifted occasionally, Jeanne would've thought they were actual statues. The draenei on her side was enormous, easily dwarfing her human form by at least two feet. She'd never attempted to make conversation with him nor has he indicated in any way to be open to talk. As it were, she was perfectly fine with having one less person she had to make small talk with. However, it just made her job that much more tedious.

Prince Anduin hadn't been in there for too long, only going in about ten minutes before. As was usual for their lessons, the unenchanted wooden door was pulled shut to keep the meetings private, yet their muffled voices still drifted through the wood. If Jeanne tried hard enough she could often puzzle together what was being said. However, she had no desire to eavesdrop on something so important to the young prince.

With that being said, Jeanne had tuned out the murmur of voices and focused on trying not to fidget so much. She hadn't noticed it going dead quiet in the room until Anduin's terrified yell ripped her out of her thoughts.

She immediately changed into her worgen form and gripped the handle of one of her daggers. Murua, across from her, looked just as confused and on edge as she felt when their gazes met. They listened hard for any cries of help. All that Jeanne could hear was someone sobbing from the other side. She relaxed marginally when Velen's aged voice floated through the door as steady as ever. They were alright even though _something_ had happened.

Minutes passed in tense silence. After what seemed like forever and a half the aged door creaked open and a somber Anduin slipped through. Jeanne immediately noticed that his downcast eyes were red and slightly puffy.

"Are you well, Prince Anduin?" Murua asked and Anduin jumped slightly.

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied after a moment.

The druid said nothing, instead scrutinizing him from the haunted look in his eye to the way his body tensed. She didn't believe him for one second and it must've shown on her face.

"I'm fine. Truly," Anduin insisted, giving her a slightly irritated look and turning from her sharper than normal.

Jeanne had to physically bite her tongue to resist the urge to argue with him about it. She knew that something had gone on in there and that it was affecting him deeply. The druid growled to herself in frustration when the prince led them to his next destination; how was she supposed to be a companion to him if all he did was push them away?

_"_ _I'll find a way,"_ she thought stubbornly, glaring at the back of his golden head, _"Even if it kills me."_

* * *

_**I dunno what happened in there, but it must've been something significant. The Prince was distracted for the rest of the day. There were many times I caught him staring into space with the most mournful look on his face. It... it actually hurt to see how deeply he was affected. Prince Anduin is such a kind soul with such a heart for forgiveness that the sorrow he held stuck a chord.** _

_**The next day wasn't much better. He returned to his lessons early the next morning but didn't stay long. He returned not even ten minutes after he went in with the most frustrated look I'd ever seen on him. He never told us why, not that I'd expected him to. It wasn't until we were back out into the wilderness of Azuremyst that I learned a little of what was bothering him.** _

* * *

Jeanne grunted and shifted her grip on the thrashing creature when its thorns pierced her gloves. They were back in the Ammen Vale healing what mutations they could. Once again the two guards were tasked with holding the creatures down while Anduin channeled the Light into them.

This time the druid was working on keeping her own consciousness separate from the struggling creatures. So far she was having little success; their discomfort and confusion was too strong, especially at the beginning.

The flower-creature looked so much better after Anduin finished his healing, blooming a bright healthy purple as it shuffled away. A weary sigh from her liege grabbed Jeanne's attention. Anduin looked tired, more so than just the fatigue from magic use. She carried food and drink just for this reason and, after some searching, offered him a full waterskin and a hunk of cheese.

"Thank you, Lady Jeanne," he said with a small smile, taking them gratefully and plunking himself down where he knelt.

After offering a similar snack to Murua, who politely refused, she dug a share out for herself and sat down with the Prince.

The draenei guard shifted restlessly, glancing around at the field and some of the draenei nearby. "Prince Anduin," she started in her rolling accent, "I will search for our next group of targets while you are resting."

He nodded his permission. "That would be very helpful, Vindicator. Thank you."

She saluted him and bounced off on quick hooves. Jeanne watched her go, absentmindedly nibbling on her bread, before turning back to the Prince, a question on her lips.

It immediately shriveled on her tongue when she saw Anduin had stopped eating. He stared intently at the ground and pushed a morsel of cheese across the blue-hued grass. Jeanne leaned closer to see what had his attention and wrinkled her nose lightly when she witnessed several tiny black ants burrow up and attack the cheese. He withdrew his finger when more of them popped up to latch onto the food. In no time the yellow speck was swarmed over with insects and they watched as it was torn apart and carried back to their nest.

"Do you think of me as a child?" Anduin asked suddenly, startling the druid.

She gave him a curious look, though his focus was still on the ants. "Yes... and no..."

It was a completely honest answer and it drug his attention up to her. "How so?"

The druid bit her lip and looked up at the dusky treetops as she tried to think of specific examples. "If... If I were to go by your physical age, then the answer would be yes. However..." She paused, struggling to put into words what she'd noticed about him over the months. "However, if I was measuring by... how you _act..._ then no. You... you go about everything... from the way you hold yourself to how you speak, with a certain wisdom I've only seen on older men."

Anduin stared at her, measuring her words. Genuine frustration and sorrow battled in his eyes with an intensity that surely had to be painful. Jeanne truly wondered what was going through his head right then to produce such a mix of emotions.

"Thank you for the honest answer," he murmured, glancing away.

"I..." He stared hard at where the cheese had been. "I wish more people thought like you, Lady Jeanne."

She shifted, unsure where he was going with this. "I'm surprised more don't."

A deep sigh rippled out of him, full of sorrow and a touch of bitterness. "Unfortunately, they don't." His fingers played with the spout of the waterskin. "Your elder brother: he is a warrior, yes?"

The question caught her off guard. "Yes he is."

"He doesn't think... less of you... for not welding a sword..?"

A snort escaped her and Anduin looked up at her again. "I can weld a sword just as well as Cerdic can." She tilted her head, considering his question. "But no. If anything, Cerdic considers me... less... because I am a _woman._ "

His brows furrowed. "Truly?"

She sighed and fingered the ends of her hair. "Yes. I am the..." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. " _baby_ of the family and the only girl. He got into his head that it automatically made me weak and needed to be protected at all times." She shrugged a shoulder, a rueful smile on her lips. "Turns out I've rescued his arse more times than I can count. Yet he still insists that he be my protector."

Anduin stared at her in silence, taking in all of the information she'd offered him. Slowly, a matching grin graced his lips and Jeanne was sure she didn't like that look on his face.

"It seems," he sighed, standing when Murua came into sight, "that we both have family that don't see us for who we are."

A slight chill ran down her spine as she clambered to her feet. "So it does..."

_So it does..._

* * *

_**The rest of the week passed normally, or as normal as it would get. There was an unknown tension in the air, as thick as one of Gilneas's fogs and as brittle as spun sugar. There were many things at work just beyond our sight that neither me nor Prince Anduin were privy to.** _

_**For reasons that were not told to me, Anduin's lessons were outrageously short. I've become used to standing out there for four, five hours at a time. However, this past weeks' have only lasted, at most, a half-hour. Every single time Anduin would come out looking more and more frustrated and he'd insist on traveling to the Ammen Vale to heal more mutations. It got to the point where I was afraid we'd run out of them to heal. I think it was a way to... escape... his frustrations with the Prophet.** _

_**Then came today... Something in my gut told me not to let him go outside. I didn't know why, but I was absolutely convinced that Prince Anduin must not leave The Exodar.** _

* * *

Jeanne waited outside the Prophet's receiving room anxiously. The increase of activity in the city reminded her of a beehive she and Ammon had decided to bother when they were children. The buzz of activity here was eerily similar to the buzz of the bees as they came out to defend their hive from nosy kids. Like that encounter, there was the same sense of fear in her breast, but she couldn't put her finger on _why_. It was little relief to know that Murua was also on edge, though she seemed to know more of what's going on than the druid.

The door opened abruptly and Anduin came pacing out of it. The look of frustration was now familiar to them as they fell in beside the prince. Like the past few days, his feet took them close to the ramp leading to the main entrance. Jeanne's own steps faltered when an overwhelming sense of fear hit her like a punch in the gut. Her eyes flew from the golden-haired prince to the ramp they traversed daily and the feeling intensified.

"Prince Anduin!" she yelled, her form changing without a thought and she bolted to catch up to him. "Do not go up that ramp!"

He and Murua snapped back around. The draenei had her hand on her weapon and was visibly sizing the worgen up. Anduin himself looked confused and more than a little irked.

"Why not?" he asked when she skidded to a halt in front of him. His brows furrowed as he took in the fear in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

She grit her teeth, already knowing how her next words were going to sound to them. "I honestly don't know. All I know is that I cannot allow you to take one more step up that ramp!"

The Vindicator snorted and shook her head. "You're spouting foolishness, _Lady_. We were fine yesterday and we are going to be fine toda—"

A deafening hum shook the floor beneath them and the air turned electric. The ends of Jeanne's fur stood on end and even some of the heavier strands of her mane floated. The small group looked around wildly, afraid of what was happening.

"What's going on?!" Jeanne roared over the hum, pressing herself closer to Anduin.

"I heard rumours that The Exodar is fixed!" Murua yelled back, doing the same.

Shouts came echoing down to them, fear and panic lacing the mass of voices. The unique burr of Draenei accented them, forced calm etched in every syllable. The two guards exchanged looks of mutual understanding; they must get the Prince moved to somewhere safer.

"We must go," Murua insisted, nudging their charge with her hip. "You cannot stay here!"

"They need help!" Anduin argued, a look of determination and stubbornness etched in his features. "There must be some way to settle this!"

The worgen snorted, unphased by the human's own brand of stubborn. "This isn't the bleeding time Anduin! We need to get your arse to somewhere safe!"

He turned on her, a righteous anger burning in his eyes. Before anything else could be said, the panicked shouts from above turned into pained cries and wails of genuine fear. The sounds of combat was enough for Anduin to pale in horror and bolt off in the direction they came. With a gritted curse, Jeanne gave chase with Murua hot on her heels. The worgen caught up to him first, her pads and claws giving her the advantage over the smooth floor, and nearly slammed into him as he made a sharp turn into the Prophet's chambers.

The Shields startled at the sudden intrusion but made no move to stop him as he dashed over the small area and threw the door open.

"Prophet! You must come! You must!" Anduin cried into the dim room. Jeanne could make out that the Prophet's back had been to them and spun around to face Anduin.

"What has happened?" Velen asked, ever so calm.

"The refugees are mobbing the Exodar. _Your_ people are attacking them! Attacking _innocents_."

The Ageless One's face betrayed little of his emotions as he sat and contemplated the prince in front of him. Impatience snagged at the worgen's feet and she had to resist the urge to demand an answer.

It seems that her own feelings were shared by the Prince, who squared his shoulders and yelled, "What does your war matter to those fighting outside?" He paused, as if remembering something. " _Every_ life is a universe!"

Those weighted words seemed to finally move the stoic draenei. He blinked exactly once at the man-child and moved to stand.

"I will come," Velen said.

Anduin's posture sagged in relief and he nodded. He spun around and, with barely a glance at his guards, ordered, "Follow me."

The three raced back to the ramp leading to the entrance and sped up it. Jeanne was forced to make a call when she saw the beginnings of scarlet blood trailing down the slope towards them.

"We're not going any closer than this!" she growled to Anduin, who shot her a peeved look.

"We _need_ to help, Lady Delroy!"

"It's my job to keep you _out_ of danger, pup!" she shot back, flattening her ears and baring her teeth. "An' I will physically carry you out my bloody self if that's what it takes!"

His face darkened and Jeanne could see an echo of his father in the look.

Before anything else could be said, a blast of light and sound pummeled down the corridor.

" _Enough!"_

Anduin shouldered past the worgen and marched the rest of the way up. Both her and Murua followed and they stopped short at the line of tear-faced, horrified draenei kneeling right outside the archway. All combat had stopped and everyone's focus was on the descending Prophet. He stopped to hover a few inches over the bloodstained earth and turned to the draenei.

"Is this how we treat out brethren?" Velen asked, tone seeping with sorrow. His softly glowing gaze ghosted over them and many of the draenei wept in shame. "And you," he asked the mass of refugees, "who enjoy our aid, our hospitality, strike your friends without provocation?"

Many of them bowed their heads, unable to endure the gaze of the Ageless One.

Velen took another sweep of the battlefield and lowered himself to the ground. There was a collective gasp from the draenei as blood-churned mud stained the ends of his ornate robes. Even Jeanne was moved; she had never seen the Prophet dirtied, even at the summit.

He knelt at the side of one of the fallen and reached out to hold him. A familiar golden light streamed out of his hands and into the man's chest. In front of her, Anduin gasped lightly as the man stirred and opened his eyes.

Velen stood after a few moments, not even attempting to brush off the mud clinging to his robes, and addressed them all.

"We will go forth among the mortals of Azeroth, our pledged allies, and serve and aid their quest to heal the world from the Cataclysm."

There was a beat of silence as that sunk in before a draenei that Jeanne could not see spoke up.

"The Exodar as long last is repaired, Prophet," he pressed, "We should take the war to the Legion. Or perhaps return to Outland and heal our home in exile."

"Each to your own conscience," the Prophet replied, gently but with a firmness the druid rarely heard from him, "But I tell you this: _our war is everywhere._ In every deed and breath. We must prepare the people of this word to stand together. We must be their example to rally against evil. In service we will awaken them all to form the ultimate alliance against the dark. Go among the people, save them from the Cataclysm's hurts, and make them strong for the future."

There was a resonating silence that fell over them. Jeanne could clearly see from many of their expressions, both on the draenei and the refugees, that the Prophet's speech had affected them greatly. At first, no one moved, but one by one the draenei stood and went to the wounded refugees.

"Come," Anduin murmured when the path was clear enough for them to move. This time, Jeanne made no argument as they fell into familiar habits of healing the wounded.

She could feel the strain between her and the young prince as they moved from refugee to refugee, healing what they could and wrapping what they could not. He'd let Murua go assist a greater range of people with her innate healing ability and so it was just them making their rounds. The tension grew thinner and thinner until one of them had to snap.

"You know what?" Jeanne started after over an hour exchanging the minimum amount of words to communicate, "Whatever I said to tick you off, I'm sorry."

Anduin froze in the middle of the cluttered walkway and gave her a cold look over his shoulder. "Are you even aware of why I am upset at you, Lady Delroy?"

Jeanne had to resist the urge to flinch. The normal warmth in his voice was gone, replaced by a chill that even she couldn't ignore. "Honestly? Not truly."

He inhaled sharply, spun back around and marched towards the next tent. She knew not to bother him while he was in a healing trance and waited until they were moving on to pick the subject up again.

"I'd understand better if you _told_ me what I did," she huffed, losing patience quickly, "You know, so I wouldn't do it again."

The prince huffed out an exasperated sigh and spun on his heel to face her. "Do you remember the conversation we had not long ago?"

The druid wracked her brain for the specific conversation.

"Aye. You asked me if I saw you as a child."

"Yes..." Anduin drew himself up, looking the regal prince he was. "You said that you did not. However, your actions proved to me that you _did._ I do not enjoy being lied to, Lady Delroy."

Jeanne sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "How so?"

"You prevented me from coming to the peoples' aid at the beginning! You also told me that you'd carry me away from my duty like a child!"

Indignation rose in her breast and heated her words without her meaning to. "What I meant by that is that I'd carry you away from _danger_ that I could not defend you from! I am your guard; you also have to understand that it is my _duty_ , _my job_ to keep you out of harms' way! I stand by what I told you before, Prince Anduin, but I cannot allow you to rush into harm's way just because you wanted to find a peaceful way out of this!"

"There could've been if you'd allowed me to try!"

The worgen snorted. "You and I both know this was inevitable. The tensions between the refugees and the draenei have been building for months and it was bound to snap. Tell me it isn't true."

Anduin opened his mouth to argue but paused when he really thought about it. He closed it when he failed to come up with an answer and settled for glaring up at her. Jeanne snorted and shook her head. "I honestly don't think you would've made a bit of difference, Prince Anduin. When the ball started rolling there was no stopping it. You would've just been injured in the crossfire and I would've failed my duty."

_Again_

When Anduin stayed silent Jeanne sighed, uncrossed her arms, and held them out from herself in a peaceful gesture. "I didn't intend on making it sound like you're incompetent, Anduin, and I'm... sorry... for offending you... But, like it or not, your safety comes first and I will make good on my word."

For several minutes the pair just stood there, measuring each other up, before Anduin looked away with a tired sigh. Jeanne's guard dropped when he wiped a lightly shaking hand over his dirtied face and, without thinking, dug in her pack and offered him the waterskin. He stared at it, startled, before a humourless smile lifted his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured, taking it. He didn't take a sip of it yet, instead running his thin fingers over the leather. "I... I think you're right, Lady Jeanne... I did act rather _childishly_ and forced you into that position." He took a deep breath and met her gaze. "For that, I apologize. I also have to apologize for... yelling at you the way I did... That was unacceptable."

The druid blinked, taken aback at the sincerity in his voice. She studied the young prince for a moment or two before giving him a lupine grin. "I've taken my fair share of arse-chewings, Prince Anduin, don't worry about that. I made some mistakes too, and I am sorry about that."

This time a genuine, tired but genuine, smile graced Anduin's lips and he nodded his acceptance. "I... I think I will enjoy getting to know you better, Lady Jeanne."

"Likewise." The worgen glanced around them, suddenly remembering where they were. She grimaced at the rows of shantytowns they still had yet to get to. "Well, we better get back to work..."

"I agree."

They shared a small smile and shuffled to the next group of people. They both felt the beginnings of a friendship forming between them as they worked to heal the damages done.

* * *

_**Healing and rebuilding what'd been destroyed took the rest of the day. There's been talk among the refugees about what the Prophet told them the answer to the Cataclysm was. Many of them say it's serving the Alliance in any way they can. I wouldn't be surprised if you two see an influx of refugees within the next several weeks.** _

_**As for the Prince... I think I may have gotten somewhere with him. He definitely tries to keep people at arms length. It's like he's afraid to trust the people around him, save for the Prophet. I honestly think he needs a friend, not one of those political 'friends' he's probably grown immune to, but an actual friend that wants to get to know the person behind the title. I don't know if I'm the friend he needs, but I want to have the chance to try.** _

_**I hope to receive more letters from you! It's been quiet on your end... Is everything alright? If I could, I would come visit you, but I only get a few days off a month and the boat to Stormwind takes too long. Maybe we'll see each other again on Remembrance Day. I think Prince Anduin might be traveling back to Stormwind for the ceremonies.** _

_**P.S. Take care of him Tess. Please don't let him shut you out. He needs your support now more than ever, even if he won't admit it. You know how he is; he'll never tell you what he needs unless you force it out of him. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for doing this for us.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off the short story _The Prophet's Lesson_ by Marc Hutcheson


	6. Ammon: Goblins and Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ammon gets more than he bargained for when he takes the package to the intended receiver, a 'goblin' named Rhea.

_**Dear Cerdic and Tess,** _

_**In my past letter, did I ever mention that there's dragons here? Black Dragons? As it turns out, that little 'errand' down in Lethlor Ravine was much, much more than a simple task. And they all have to do with the Black Dragonflight here. I'll start where I believe I left off, delivering the package to Rhea.** _

* * *

Ammon heaved a deep sigh in the early morning air. This wasn't what he signed up for.

The rogue stood on the road out to Lethlor Ravine, peering down at the dozens upon dozens of fluttering black figures. A whole host of giant, fully grown dragons wheeled below him, a good stone's throw away. He counted his lucky stars that none of them ever seemed to look _up_.

He'd known that there were dragons here; he'd seen them in passing doing other errands for these blasted goblins. However, it never clicked that _this_ is Lethlor Ravine until he was pointed in the right direction. Had he known, he would've refused.

With an irritable puff, Ammon started down the winding path. He ignored the pairs of goblins keeping guard all along it and concentrated on not choking on the plumes of red dust in the air. Soon enough—too soon for the rogue's taste—he was at the bottom and skirting around the near-invisible cheetahs lounging around. It struck him odd that most of them seemed to be content just watching him pass instead of trying to kill him. Whatever, less hassle for him.

Ammon stopped dead once he rounded the corner and came upon the field of dragons. They were a lot bigger up close. Even the whelps were the size of a year-old mastiff! The rogue backed away until he was fully hidden again and wondered exactly what he'd gotten himself into.

"Deliver the bloody goggles and yer home free," he muttered to himself, wiping a hand over his face, "And throttle Dolph while yer at it."

With a long-suffering sigh, Ammon willed himself invisible and took the first tentative steps out onto the field. He scanned the flat plain for anything that resembled a camp as he slowly circled around the first few whelps he came upon. The flashing of something on the far end of the area caught his eye and he squinted at it. An exasperated groan almost slipped out of his throat; bleeding hell, that's the camp, isn't it?

The rogue cursed his luck and changed direction, dancing away from a hatchling that decided to flutter in his direction. He had no desire to test how sharp those fangs were if he could very well help it!

It took him the better part of the morning to reach the camp. By the time he did, the rogue was tired of dodging wrestling dragon whelps, constantly checking to see if he'd been caught by the circling adults, and was well into a foul mood.

The goblin blinked owlishly up at him as he dropped the stealth and stomped over to the camp.

"Aaah," she murmured with a cryptic smile, seemingly unphased by his temper. "You've found me. Good."

Ammon scowled, barely taking note of her lilted accent, and shoved his hand in his pack. He thrust the crate at her. "'Ere's your bleeding goggles, courtesy of the goblins at Fuselight."

She took it with that same infuriating smile and wedged it open with a nearby crowbar. A pair of simple goggles sat nestled in sheafs of straw. The goblin carefully took them out, examined them, and held them out to the rogue.

"Thank you very much, human, but you may keep the goggles."

Ammon blinked, glanced from the damnable piece of headwear to the goblin, and demanded, "Why in the bleeding hell should I keep them?"

Her smile stretched, displaying rows of needle-like teeth, and she shook them at him. "Keep them or sell them, it makes no difference to me. What matters is that they brought you to me."

The rogue scowled and snatched them from her grip, vowing to sell them the first chance he got. "Right. I'm guessing you have more _errands_ for me?"

The goblin chuckled and turned to dig in her meager camp provisions. The flash of several silver coins in her small hand was more than enough to pique his interest.

"I do believe that I can give you enough incentive to assist me here, rogue. For the time being."

Ammon's lips quirked in a tiny smile as she dumped a few fistfuls of silver coin into his much bigger hand, mentally counting it as he quickly stowed it away. Despite his initial misgivings, he had a feeling this could be a very fruitful venture for him.

"Th' name's Ammon. What else can I help you with?"

Whatever good mood he'd managed to scrape together turned to ash when Rhea's smile turned entertained and she pointed a long green finger back behind him. He slowly turned and scowled at all of the drakes fluttering around.

"I need you to bring me at least six of the dragons' eggs and ten of the whelps, dead and as undamaged as you can get them."

Ammon threw her a dark look. "Why should I murder these dragons for you?"

Rhea didn't even look perturbed at his suspicion. If anything, she looked amused by it. She tapped her fingers on the discarded crate's lid and tilted her head slightly to one side.

"It is good that you do not blindly trust me. To answer your inquiry: I am experimenting with the black dragons, or more specifically how they procreate."

Ammon waited for the rest of it and folded his arms over his chest when she said nothing more. "Why in the name of Azeroth would you want to... _experiment_ on black dragons of all things?"

That unsettling smile wormed its way back onto Rhea's face. "That, I cannot divulge quite yet. You haven't quite earned my trust, Ammon."

"Touché." There was a beat of silence as the rogue measured his apparent employer. "What did you say you needed again?"

"At least six eggs and ten minimally-damaged whelp corpses. I'll pay extra if you are injured at any point."

"Deal."

* * *

Ammon puffed out a silent breath as he cautiously followed his target: a smaller whelp that'd let its curiosity get the better of it. It fluttered and dipped its way towards a clump of bright red flowers, seemingly oblivious to its surroundings. The rogue crept past it and squatted beside the flowers it was intent on.

The dragon hatchling landed right beside them, awkwardly folding its wings to its body, and stuck its snout into the flowers. Like a bolt of lightning, Ammon's hand flew out and pinned it to the ground by the base of its skull. It barely had time to squeak out an indignant cry before Ammon's other hand stuck a throwing knife into the side of its neck, where the artery should've been. A spray of steaming hot blood covered his gloved hands as it thrashed briefly before succumbing to the inevitable.

Ammon swallowed thickly, staring down at the dragon for several long moments. While killing was not a foreign concept to him—how else did one feed themselves away from the _loving_ warmth of home—somehow, this one felt different. _Off._

Taking a deep breath, and flinching at the strong metallic stink, the rogue picked the carcass up by the end of its tail and stuffed it into a predesignated bag. He bit his lip, scraped what gore he could off of his hands, and sighed despondently at the steaming flowers at his feet. So much for giving the plant to Jeanne; who knows what havoc the blood-soaked petals could have on her alchemy.

With another sigh, Ammon slowly stood and glanced over the field of hatchlings and the black eggs glinting in the sunlight. One down, five to go.

* * *

_**Killing the dragons was the easiest part of all of this; the eggs required a lot more finesse. I had to make sure the adult dragons above weren't looking before I stole them. The one that I had to fight before I figured that out was a pain to kill; those claws are very sharp! I'm lucky Joanie sent me more of her healing potions, otherwise I'd probably be missing an arm!** _

_**Anyroad, I got all that Rhea sent me to get by midday. The things that happened after... get very strange.** _

* * *

_PLOP!_

The bag landed with a wet sound at Rhea's feet. The goblin glanced from it to the pale-faced rogue in front of her as he unshouldered another bulging sack, setting it down gently beside the first one. The young man wandered over to the many wooden crates littering the camp and sat heavily on one. His lips puffed out a heavy sigh and made to wipe his face. He stopped short, weighted eyes staring at the palm of his hand.

"Here," Rhea murmured from beside him, offering the rogue a bulging waterskin.

Ammon stared at her for a moment, eyes swirling with emotion, before shakily taking it. The first thing he did was upturn the nozzle on his gloved hand. A dark stream flowed off the leather and pooled on the thirsty red earth. The goblin stayed silent as the rogue gave his other hand the same treatment and took the empty skin when it was handed back to her.

She observed the young man for another few moments before patting his knee empathetically. "The grisly task was necessary, Ammon," she sighed, moving to stow away the useless waterskin.

His face twisted with emotion. "For what?" Ammon spat hoarsely, sitting up and glaring at her back, "What could be so bleeding important to warrant the destruction of dragon _babies_? Don't you have any respect for the dragonflights?"

Rhea seemed to tense for a brief moment. He could see how her long bony fingers gripped the table in front of her. "I serve a mistress of unimaginable power," she hissed, giving the rogue pause at how similar the sound was to the whelps there, "And _their_ dragonflight showed her no kindness."

After a moment the goblin seemed to regain her composure, whirling around to face the rogue. "Your concern for the dragons has been noted. What I am doing here is for the good of the world _and_ for the black dragonflight."

Ammon snorted. "Right. Please, _enlighten_ me," he mocked, fisting his filth-crusted gloves.

Rhea gave him a level stare and he noticed that her eyes were of an unusual shade of gold. "Very well. The black dragonflight were once noble; the earth warders, tasked with protecting the land itself." Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. "It is ironic that they would become the worst terror the land has known."

Ammon nodded, knowing this from his studies. It was impossible to research the Titans without reading about the Dragon Aspects.

The goblin took a deep breath and continued, "My mistress and I believe that a sliver of hope remains for them. If we succeed, the black dragonflight will soar as the noble earth warders once again, beyond Deathwing's treachery. _That_ is why I am here, Ammon."

The rogue puffed out a sigh and leaned on his elbows. On one hand, he'd learned that he _abhorred_ killing dragons, even if their flight was corrupted and responsible for the breaking of the world. On the other, he knew that sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the good of the whole. Perhaps he was part of what would _heal_ this flight, and that was worth his discomfort.

Ammon lifted his head, mind made up, and willed his queasiness away. As if Rhea had known he'd come to a decision, she tapped his leg and gestured to the clearing just to the south.

"I wish to show something to you," she murmured, "Close your eyes."

The rogue gave her the oddest look before doing as she asked, feeling ridiculous as he did so. He could hear her shuffling and the telltale hum of magic. Her words, when she next spoke, echoed with a power that sent chills up his spine.

"I will now remove the fog from your eyes. Behold, our captive."

_Captive? What?_ Ammon blinked his eyes open again and felt his jaw slacken. He had to blink a few times to make sure what he was seeing was real.

There, underneath a glowing red bubble, was the biggest black dragon he's ever seen. The dragon's head shifted on its paws and a bulbous yellow eye locked squarely on him. It gave him the most hate-filled stare he'd ever seen. A shiver of fear ran through him.

"We will find a shred of good within these dragons, Ammon," Rhea stated firmly from beside him, her piercing stare on the dragon before them, "Whether it is in the wild eggs you found, the bodies of the whelplings you slew, or the eggs we have encouraged Nyxondra to lay... we will find an untainted black dragon."

The rogue blinked, taken aback at her words, and twisted to give her a searching look. "What _exactly_ do you mean by 'encouraged'?"

The look Rhea gave him told him that he didn't want to know and he reluctantly dropped the topic. Ammon swallowed and lifted his gaze back up to the entrapped dragon, a measure of pity settling itself in his chest. It may be for the good of the flight, but he still felt sorry for the noble creatures he's admired since childhood.

"Nyxondra is being held against her will—"

Ammon snorted. "No shite really? No, she's trapped underneath that bubble _willingly_."

Rhea gave him a tight-lipped glare. "Your sarcasm is not appreciated, human. This is a very serious matter."

The rogue puffed out a tired sigh and waved at her to go on. The goblin drew herself up (as much as her short stature would allow) and continued, "It is ironic that she is hidden from her brood, right in the middle of their breeding grounds. She lays eggs that will be taken before she will ever see them hatch."

Ammon swallowed hard, horrified at the prospect. "That's sick!"

Rhea bit her lip and cast a hard stare at Nyxondra. "Perhaps. But not nearly as 'sick' as the treatment their dragonflight showed my mistress."

Her head whipped up so quickly that her large ears flapped. Ammon felt pinned into place at the intensity of her piercing golden stare. "I need to know if I can trust you, Ammon. Take Nyxondra's latest clutch of eggs and bring them here. You will need to beat her into submission before you can take them."

The rogue felt ill all over again at the command. He lifted his stare from her to the dragon giving him the look of death and back again. "And... this is for the good of the dragonflight?"

"Some sacrifices need to be made for the greater good, Ammon." Rhea still stared, a challenge in her eyes. "But, yes, this will ultimately be for the good of the black dragons."

Reassured yet still uneasy with it, Ammon sighed and dug in his side pouch for more healing potions. If his earlier experience with dragons had taught him anything it was to make sure he had several vials within reach. As soon as he attached some to his belt—and made a mental note to ask Jeanne for more of them—he checked his supply of throwing knives on his arms, and nodded once when he deemed them in satisfactory condition.

"I certainly hope this is worth it," he muttered, bouncing on his feet. Before the goblin could say anything more, Ammon started for the dragon.

* * *

_**What happened next... wasn't pleasant. At all. I will not go into detail what Rhea had me do to the dragon, but I will tell you that I now know how far some are willing to go for 'the greater good'. I don't think she's a bad person, Rhea, but... let's say she has reason to be angry at the black dragonflight.** _

* * *

"Don't you say a bleeding word, goblin."

Ammon dropped heavily on the crate he'd been on earlier and gingerly pried his arm away from his stomach. With his other hand he dug into his pack and pulled out several rolls of wool bandages. With a hiss of pain, the rogue peeled back the shredded leather on his arm and set to bandaging the large gash bleeding freely. The wound itched as the healing magic in it did its work and, soon enough, was reduced to a pink line in his pale flesh.

A waterskin was thrust into his line of view by a bony hand. The rogue sighed, took it, and upended it over his arm. Most of the blood washed away with little trouble and Ammon drank the rest of the warm water, if only to clear the bitter taste of disgust from his tongue.

"Here's your eggs," he grumbled, digging in the smaller of his packs and pulled out a really warm egg from it.

Rhea accepted them one-by-one and waddled across camp to set them with the rest of the grisly 'collection'. As disgusted as Ammon was with what he'd done, he still found amusement in watching the tiny goblin struggle with objects almost as big as she. That is, until a combination of exhaustion and his rolling stomach had him ducking away from camp to vomit behind a boulder.

"Are you well?" Rhea asked when he tottered back to camp.

Ammon growled irritably and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just _peachy._ "

"You will be pleased to know that we are done here."

The rogue stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the strange goblin with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

She pushed some of her auburn hair behind her ear and smiled cryptically up at him. "You have proven yourself trustworthy, Ammon. More, since you seem to have a deep concern over the welfare of dragons. It is time I revealed everything to you."

He snorted and crossed both of his arms over his chest. "Good to know you trust a thief."

She laughed, a high tinkling sound that did not grate on his ears like most goblins'. "Ammon, you may be a rogue but you are no thief. You are too open for such dishonesty."

He didn't know what to say to that and it must've shown on his face. Rhea shook her head and continued with her point.

"I am no ordinary goblin." She held a hand up when he opened his mouth, halting his inevitable questions. "Allow me to show you what I mean."

He lifted a brow as he watched her hands start to glow green. The glow spread up her arms and quickly encompassed her entire body. She took a deep breath and—

"HOLY FUCKING SHITE-BALLS!"

Ammon scrambled away from the gigantic dragon that'd taken the tiny goblin's place. It took him a moment or two to realize that, unlike the dragon he'd just been fighting with, this one had scales the hue of hot coals with pale yellow scales running over her throat and belly. Her golden eyes—the only feature that remained unchanged—blinked down at him, amusement flickering in them.

"R-Rhea?" Ammon squeaked, brain finally putting two-and-two together.

A rumbling came from the dragon's throat and it took him a second to realize she was laughing at him.

"My true name," the dragon said, her voice the same lilt as the goblin's, "is Rheastrasza. I am an envoy of Alexstraza herself, the Aspect of the red dragonflight."

Ammon ran a hand through his hair, shocked beyond words at this development. He now felt bad for the words he'd hurled at her earlier; she had to be even more disgusted and horrified at doing these experiments than he! She was a red dragon, a guardian of life!

"Deathwing's madness overcomes him, and we, the red dragonflight, must take this opportunity to steal his black dragons from beneath him," she continued, "We will remake the black dragons as they are intended to be: the warders of the earth."

Rheastrasza lowered her head enough to look him dead in the eye. Ammon swore he could see humour swirling in her huge eyes. "And you are going to help us."

* * *

_**Rhea turned out to be a dragon! I've read that they can take on a humanoid form to walk among us but I never, ever, would've thought I'd actually meet one!** _

_**Since her cover was blown, Rheastrasza sent me on ahead to this gnome bloke that was in on this. He turned out to be this scientist that'd been helping Rhea test the corruption in the 'specimens' she brought him. How he does that, I still have no bleeding clue. The tosser had me control his 'vermin' problem, the 'vermin' being troggs of all things. They weren't too hard to kill, just very annoying and so bloody many! Ugly little buggers too! He had me use his 'turret' thing to kill them much quicker than doing it by hand! It's like a cannon but so much faster and so much more powerful!** _

* * *

"Hey human! Come'ere! The results are in!"

Ammon sighed in disappointment and reluctantly stepped away from the lightly-smoking weapon he'd been having so much fun on. He gave it a quick pat before trotting over to the gnome standing underneath the shade of his awning. The scruffy-haired gnome was holding an odd instrument in his hands, frowning down at the small screen. Around him were all of the black dragon 'specimens', each in its own pile. Ammon slid to a stop beside him, deliberately steering well away from the pile of dragon corpses that were attracting hordes of flies.

Dr. Blam sighed and shook his head, tapping the side of the instrument with a thick finger. "Rhea will be very disappointed. There's traces of corruption in all three samples you brought me!"

Ammon sighed in disgust, scowling down at the device. He'd just murdered these dragons in cold blood for nothing. The rogue fisted his hands as the urge to punch something became stronger by the second.

"I suppose we'll just have to throw these away..." Dr. Blam sighed, moving to gather up the eggs. The gnome froze mid-stride and his entire face lit up in realization. "WAIT! I think I'm having an idea!"

Ammon slowly let out a breath at the gnome's excitement, resisting the urge to rub at his temples. "And that would be?"

The scientist ignored him and seemed to look at the piles of 'specimens' as if he's seeing them for the first time. A slow grin spread over his chapped lips. "Yes, definitely an idea."

The rogue lifted a skeptical brow at the gnome that was practically bouncing in excitement. "Aaand _that_ would be?" he drawled, allowing his impatience to drip along every syllable.

"It's a longshot," Dr. Blam rambled, intentionally ignoring Ammon's tone, "Luckily for us, long shots tend to be my specialty."

The gnome drummed his fingers on the side of the device. "North of here, the Explorers' League has uncovered a new set of titan ruins beneath the sands. If there's anything older and wiser than dragons, it's titans. Heck, I've heard rumors that the titans CREATED the dragons."

Ammon reigned back the gleeful grin that begged to spread over his face. He was _finally_ allowed to go where he'd wanted to in the first bloody place! And without the need for those damned goblins to 'guide' him! All of his trouble was starting to pay off!

Dr. Blam went on, oblivious to Ammon's elation, "Talk to Lead Prospector Durdin at the camp to the north. He'll have more information than I do about these titans."

"Alright," the rogue agreed quickly, allowing his fingers to waggle at his sides. "I'll get back to you when I can! Cheers!"

Ammon barely got a glimpse of the gnome's startled face as he trotted away from the camp. He finally let his ecstatic smile loose and did a happy little skip. If the gnome behind him saw, he didn't care; he was finally getting what he came for!

* * *

"Hail the camp!"

"Hail!" several voices called back, all bearing the heavy burr all dwarves seem to have.

Ammon panted lightly as he came to a stop at the peak of the hill the camp was on. He'd jogged the entire way there, his excitement fueling his pace. Now, however, he was starting to regret not taking the time to stuff some lunch down his throat when he could. The sun was sinking towards the western horizon and the rogue calculated that there were only a few more hours of daylight left.

"Could you point me to Lead Prospector Durdin, it's urgent," Ammon asked one of the dwarven guards that'd trotted up to him.

The guard hardly batted an eye as he jabbed a thick finger farther into camp. Ammon followed his finger to a dwarf sitting near the fire, eyeing the gigantic boar rotating slowly on a spit. The rogue muttered his thanks and headed towards him. His mouth was starting to water at the savory smells wafting off the roasting boar. Perhaps he could have a little of it, if they were feeling kind.

"Lead Prospector Durdin?"

The dwarf glanced up at him, heavy eyes framed by even heavier brows. "And who's askin'?"

Ammon stifled an amused grin and slowly extended his hand to him. "M'name's Ammon. Ammon Delroy. I'm helping Dr. Blam to the south."

The dwarf's suspicious glower lightened almost immediately, replaced by an almost exasperated look. "Ah, another one o' Blam's 'assistants'?" Durdin grunted, standing and shaking Ammon's hand firmly, "Haven' seen the lad fo' awhile now. What may I help ya with, Laddie?"

The grin peeked out at the dwarves' tone. Another one that was more than a little skeptical of him and his sciences. "I'm here to inquire about any Titan technologies that may help us in our studies. Know of any that can help cure a corruption?"

Durdin's deeply etched face broke out in a wide grin, stony eyes sparkling in excitement like gemstones in sunlight.

"Titans? You want to know about titans?" He demanded, grin getting wider at Ammon's enthusiastic nod.

The stocky man laughed and waved at the rogue to follow him. He lead the Gilnean to the other side of camp—which Ammon noted the gryphon roost in distaste—and waved at the valley spread below them. Ammon's heart skipped a beat and a wide grin split his face. Below them, lit by the waning light of the sun, were several jade green ruins sticking haphazardly out of the red sand. The entrance of the ruins was made of a similar stone and the sun hit them in such a way to make it seem as if they were glowing.

"You came to the right place, Lad. We're on the brink of somethin' big."

Ammon's companion laughed, startling him out of his awe, and shook his bearded head. "First things first, though. I'm not just going to sit here and tell you everything we've discovered down in those ruins. We've got problems to take care of!"

Durdin pointed down to the ruins again and Ammon could barely spy figures that definitely _weren't_ dwarves hammering down there.

"Most pressing is those upstart The Reliquary hooligans, just on the other side of the tomb." The archaeologist clarified with a growl, "They're making off with all of our loot! Don't they know that diggin's dwarf work?"

The rogue coughed lightly and ran his thumbs over his daggers. "So," he asked, allowing just enough casual interest slip into his words, "What can I do to help?"

Durdin huffed and stared up at him, the utmost seriousness carved onto his face. "Hunt down a few of their "excavators"—more like bandits, if you ask me—and bring some of these precious artifacts back to me."

The dwarf paused to gauge Ammon's reaction and added after a moment, "THEN we'll talk titans."

The rogue hesitated just long enough to make the dwarf fidget before allowing a small smile slip onto his lips.

"You've got yourself a deal, on the condition that I get to keep one of these artifacts."

* * *

_**It didn't take me too long to collect what Durdin wanted. It turns out they hadn't collected much yet before I drove them out. I would've probably gotten more if I had more daylight...** _

_**Speaking of artifacts, the artifact that I've included in this is part of the batch I collected today. It's an Earthen hieroglyphic, from the people that eventually became the dwarven race after many thousands of years. How they did, I still don't know, but I thought it was interesting. Durdin says he has more work for me in the morning, so I should get some sleep.** _

_**Hey Cerdic, could you send Jeanne a little something? It's almost Papa's birthday and you know how she gets about it... Some incense would probably work, the rose one that we like. She's been feeling a little down lately and I think it would cheer her up some. I'm planning on sending her some plants from here that I've picked up. Thanks Cerd.** _


	7. Cerdic: Got the Morbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get another glimpse into how the eldest Delroy sibling is doing. Everything... is not exactly okay with him.

_**Dear** _ _**My Beloved Sister,** _

_**Tess is finally allowing me to write my own letters!** _

_**I suppose that means I can tell you about my progress myself, doesn't it? I can now sit up for a longer period of time, about forty-five minutes at a time as of this morning, without pain. It is a huge relief to be able to change into my human form for a little while; our luxurious, heavy fur coats and Stormwind's heat does not work well together. Even the rain here is warm, which is absolutely ridiculous!** _

_**Tess is doing well in her studies. She's mentioned that she's making steady progress with Celestine. I have yet to see her abilities in person, but I believe her word. Mia and Genn send their well wishes and hopes that we'll see you and His Highness on Remembrance Day, if not sooner.** _

* * *

"Blighter's off his bloomin' rocker," Cerdic muttered under his breath, scowling down at the several sheets of parchment he held in his hands. The inked words and figures stared up at him, innocent if not for the message they spelled out. "Trying to back out of our agreed sum! Complete nutter!"

The nobleman sighed and tossed the papers onto his lap, where they joined the written reports of his ship's condition and the cost to make the necessary repairs to it. His fingers reached up and set to massaging away the tension headache he felt coming on.

As much as he respected his fellow Gilneans, especially the merchants who's fortunes waxed and waned with the success of their wares, he despised dealing with them  _now_. Before all of this rubbish happened, the eldest Delroy son had very good relations with his clients. He knew how to work them, how to appeal to their pride and what words to say at the right time to draw them into drafting up and signing business deals.

Now that Gilneas has fallen, many of the merchants' fortunes have started to dwindle with the loss of their business fronts and inventory. The specific man he'd been in a contract with had his goods shipped to Booty Bay, made a good profit from the goblins there, but wanted to cut less than what they'd agreed to on account of his dwindling finances.

This was the predicament Cerdic faced now. Did he press for the amount they agreed upon, which was a pretty hefty cut of his client's profit? Most of it would fund the repairs needed to the Gilnean built ship and left him with about a 17%-20% profit. Or would he agree to cut the man and his family some slack to keep him in the merchant's good standing, keep the hard-won trust he'd so tediously built with this stubborn fellow, but barely make any profit from this venture?

"I need more clients," Cerdic grumbled, "Maybe there's some to be found here?"

He groaned, briefly stretched out his face, then allowed his hands to drop into his lap. The nobleman leaned his head back against the wall and puffed out a heavy sigh.

"Need another bleedin' ship to do that. But do I have the gold to commission one?"

Cerdic's nose wrinkled, a sour taste flooding his mouth. He probably did have the money to have another ship built, but his pride balked at sending a ship out,  _not_  built by Gilnean hands, bearing the Delroy crest. It didn't sit well with him, but he had little other option.

With another heavy sigh of resignation, the nobleman briefly glanced out the open window before gingerly rolling onto his side. The parchment was in the first drawer on his nightstand, and he was far too impatient to wait for Tess to get back. Besides, it was perfectly reachable if he'd just stretch a little. His fingertips barely brushed against the edge of the nightstand before a spike of pain bolted up his spine. Cerdic scarcely had time to utter a groan before an explosion of fur rippled across his body. The worgen eyed his now furry hand, let out a disgusted growl, and continued on his quest for stationary.

He'd just managed to open the top drawer when a fluttering near his ear snatched his attention once again. The warrior looked up sharply and blinked with utter astonishment at what he saw. A jet black raven met his gaze, curiosity and intelligence shining in its gleaming brown eyes. It cocked its head back and forth, as if measuring the worgen's worth, before uttering a soft  _kraa_  and hopping closer to him.

* * *

_**I seem to be attracting animals lately. A raven, just like the ones you and Ammon would feed in Gilneas, just completely showed up on my windowsill out of the blue! I don't recall anyone bringing any over in the evacuation, or any who was bonkers enough to even attempt to, but here was one just making itself home at my window! Maybe they decided to migrate with us?** _

* * *

"Wotcher," Cerdic greeted slowly, "Erm, I don't have any food for you up here. Sorry."

The nobleman snorted lightly after the raven cocked its head; was he really so lonely that he was talking to a bird as if it could understand him? His lips and ears twitched lower as the answer rang clearly in his mind and he busied himself with trying to fish out the parchment.

The worgen had just managed to nab a sheet or two when he felt his weight tip just a bit too far. Panic flooded his system as gravity grabbed at his unsteady position. His hands scrabbled for anything to give him purchase— _anything_ to prevent him from-

_THUD!_

_"_ _ARRRAAAAGH!"_

Fire, pure molten fire rocketed up his back. Someone was screaming but his pulse was too loud in his ears! Not enough air! He couldn't breathe! The fire stole every breath he took!

The worgen's wails gave way to gasping breaths and whimpering. The fire in his back ebbed to a searing ache that spiked with every breath he managed to take. Worse yet, when he finally managed to wrench his eyes open and blink past the tears, a few sheets of parchment laid innocently on the cold unforgiving wood just an arms-length away. The cheery pale yellow hue of the unmarked paper seemed to mock him. Cerdic glared at the sheets with enough hate to set them alight.

But it was nothing compared to the resentment he felt for himself and his broken body.

Cerdic didn't know how long he laid there, his futile attempts at lifting himself sending more unbearable pain rocketing up his spine. Useless, he was completely useless! He couldn't even retrieve some paper out of a desk right next to him! How could he ever hope to walk, much less be useful to  _someone_  ever again? Jeanne should've left him-!

_Squawk! Squawk! Squawk!_

_thud thud thud tHUD_

_THWACK!_

"Cerdic?! Oh gods, AVERY! JAMES!"

Cerdic peeled open a eye at Tess's shrill voice and inhaled a shaky breath. He didn't quite get a chance to focus on her as her two Gilnean guards burst into the room. Something was going berserk right behind them, screaming bloody murder and tearing around the drawing room. One of the guards shut the door firmly on whatever it was and muffled the noise a little.

"Help me get him into bed! Cerdic, we're going to have to pick you up. I'm sorry but it's going to hurt."

The worgen gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut again. He didn't need to look at his fellow worgens' faces to know that there was pity written on them. He didn't  _want_  to see the worry pinching Tess's features, all because of his incompetence.

He was really sick of seeing those looks on everyone's faces.

"On three. One. Two. Three!"

The trip back into his bed was short but no less painful than the fall. He couldn't hold in his groans of agony as every little movement spread the fire through his body. Cerdic kept his eyes clenched shut even after the worst of it was over, unwilling to even find the voice to thank the two guards. He heard Tess thank them for him and quietly dismiss them, but even then he kept his head turned away from her. He thought he heard a flutter of wings before the guards closed the door, but dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him.

They were alone. To his complete surprise she didn't say anything to him. His labored breathing was the only thing filling the silence between them. The rustle of cloth and the taps of her boots was loud in the relative silence. Cerdic jumped when he felt gentle hands lift up the back of his shirt and gingerly press into the small of his back.

The sudden spike of pain was almost immediately quelled by the cool wave of healing magic. The worgen let out a relieved breath as it soothed his frayed nerves and chased away the heat of pain. Tears sprang into his eyes for an entirely different reason now; he was so  _happy_  that the pain was going away.

"Feel better?"

Cerdic hummed and slowly lifted a paw to wipe away his tears. He heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor and the rustle of cloth as Tess settled into it. Ever so slowly, to not aggravate his back any more than he must, he turned his head to that he was facing the rest of the room and her. Tess's eyes still held worry in them, he noted, but she had pulled up the carefully crafted mask of clinical detachment she'd been wearing more and more around him. While it bothered him that one of his greatest friends felt the need to mask her emotions from him, part of him was thankful for it. It was bad enough to have both his younger siblings smother him with their worry, worse when his own King and Queen fret over him. But the Gilnean nobleman absolutely drew the line when the High King had asked Tess about his health.  _That_  was completely humiliating to overhear and something he never wanted to experience again.

"Well," his princess started matter-of-factly, "You can expect a visit from Father later, and High King Wrynn will probably be asking about you."

Well, scratch the humiliating inquiries off the list of  _Never Again_. Cerdic's face bloomed with heat and he buried his snout into the pillows. He growled something unintelligible into the soft fluff. A soft frown broke through Tess's mask.

"What was that Cerd?"

The worgen snorted and lifted his head enough to repeat, "Why in all the hells would they be asking about me?"

A puff of unamused laughter escaped the woman and drew Cerdic's eye. She gestured to the still open window and a soft  _kraa_  answered.

"Because this fellow here made quite the scene in the throne room. King Wrynn had half a mind to kill it before I showed up and took the hint."

The worgen had to shift a little to properly see, but the very same raven from before had perched on his windowsill like he owned it. The raven blinked sagely at Cerdic.

"I think he's taken a liking to you," Tess commented, tapping her chin in thought, "Though I cannot fathom why. This is the first time I've seen him up here."

"Wait." Cerdic narrowed his eyes at the druid. "You've seen him before?"

Tess nodded. "One of the other druids gave the local girl down there, Audrey Burnhep, I think she's called, a young raven he'd recently nursed back to health."

"Ah." The worgen glanced back at the raven and gave him his best smile. "Have you just come up to say 'hello' then, Sir Raven? Are you to be returning to Miss. Burnhep soon? She must be wondering what you've gotten up to."

The raven gave him an unhappy look, shuffling its feathers before turning and launching itself off into the cheery late-spring day. The worgen was baffled at the unexpected prang of loneliness he felt watching the bird's form fade into nothing. He... wasn't  _that_  lonely up here. Was he?

The  _clunk_  of several somethings on his bedside table grabbed his attention from the too-clear sky. The worgen blinked when he saw a wide ceramic bowl now occupying the middle of his table and two small pouches of something sitting beside it. He was confused for a split second, then a new scent assaulted his nose.

"Is that..?"

"Yes."

Cerdic sniffed deeply, humming thoughtfully after a moment. "It's... different... than what I remember..."

Tess shrugged and plucked one of the pouches back up. "It's a slightly different blend, the keeper told me," she said, "Blended with peacebloom."

Cerdic hummed again and flinched when Tess started pouring small pebbles into the ceramic bowl. "I hope Joanie won't mind."

"She's gonna have to deal," came the clipped reply and the worgen eyed her with no small amount of confusion.

"Tess-?"

The woman huffed and shook her head firmly. "It's nothing."

The nobleman knew that stony expression and decided to drop the subject. Tess was just as stubborn as her father some days and he knew it well. She would get to it on her own time.

After several long moments of watching Tess setting up the incense bowl and straightening up the room after his 'incident', Cerdic cleared his throat and asked, "Would you, erm, be so kind to... to bag some of the incense for Joan..? To send to her."

Tess let out a deep sigh and gave him a small lopsided grin. "And what if I wasn't so kind, hmm? What would you do then?"

The worgen snorted and gestured to the parchment she held in her hand. "Then I would be forced to take matters into my own hands."

She scowled at him and promptly snatched up the heavily perfumed bag. "You will  _not_ ," the princess hissed, "You'll be lucky if I let you write your own letter today!"

Cerdic grumbled and made a show of settling down into the bed. He heard Tess try and cover her snort with a cough and move away from his bedside. The worgen followed her with his gaze until he could no longer see her. From somewhere behind him he heard the door open.

"I'll be back, Cerd. I might even bring something to eat, if I'm feeling  _kind_  enough."

He snorted and listened to the woman's fading footsteps. When he knew he was alone in the apartments, Cerdic let out a deep sigh and shifted to where he could semi-comfortably see out the window.

He hadn't the faintest clue to why his chest ached with some foreign emotion. All he knew is that he was getting really tired of it.

* * *

_**I, er, I had a little 'incident' earlier today. A minor one, barely worthy of mention, but I think Tess would skin me alive if I didn't at least mention it to you.** _

_**Anyroad, Ammon mentioned that you might like some of the incense I recently commissioned. It's made with some of the Gilnean roses you sent here and a few other herbs. It's not exactly the same as what we had in Gilneas, but it smells really nice. I like it a lot and I think you would too.** _

_**Joanie, I must be frank with you. Father's birthday is soon—I'm sure you don't need me to remind you—and this is the first year we've all been apart for it. I must ask you to not shirk your duties to His Highness on that day. Father would not want you to, not for him. He would be so proud of you for being chosen for such an important task, as I am of you, and he would want you to fulfill it to the best of your abilities. No matter what.** _

_**We all send you our love.** _


End file.
